


Pezberry Encores

by thedeadflag



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Angst, Crack, F/F, Fluff, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:36:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 114,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3485081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeadflag/pseuds/thedeadflag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot or mini-fic archive of pezberry works. Mostly writing exercises, and mini stories of the two growing together in some form or another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Accidents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana keeps running into her, and Rachel is pretty sure it’s not an accident.

The first time was absolutely an accident. There Rachel was, strolling through the halls of McKinley, too busy considering the plethora of group numbers she'd practiced for glee club's upcoming invitationals performance to notice that there was a parting sea of people up ahead. Had she been paying attention to the commotion, perhaps she would have understood that either Quinn or Santana were having a bad day because people were literally scrambling off to the sides. Sure, most weren't visible, as Rachel was reaching a corner in the hallway that one of the cheerleaders was approaching, but normally she was a fair bit more perceptive due to her self-preservation instinct. Sometimes everything just took second priority to glee.

So when one of the nearby students rushed out of the way, pushing her toward the middle of the hall to clear a path of escape for himself, Rachel was annoyed and stumbling, hoping she wouldn't fall. But then Santana Lopez barreled right into her, tripping over her, and knocked them both down.

Santana had been the fortunate one, catching herself somewhat so that her hands and knees were on the ground; Rachel, on the other hand, was underneath Santana, back pressed flat on the tile and trying to catch the wind that was knocked out of her. She expected that the student body populating the halls would stay to watch her be humiliated, but it seemed like Santana had been having one of her 'murderous rage' days, so pretty much everyone just ran. Rachel understood the urge to not be a key witness to a murder, it was a precarious position to be in, even if she would have preferred some help in preventing said murder.

"Dwarf, if you're not groveling for mercy in the next ten seconds, I'mma send you back to your damn hobbit hole with broken knees, understand?" Santana growled at her as she leaned back, and Rachel found herself in quite the predicament. She wasn't certain how to handle people with fiery tempers and aggression issues, and her mind was hazy as she considered what she learned in a National Geographic book back in fourth grade. Deciding it would be foolish to show submission, for fear of being completely mauled by the girl on top of her, Rachel maintained eye contact with Santana. It wasn't that she was confident, so much as she was simply apprehensive of what would be done to her if she didn't.

"Santana Lopez you will do no such thing." Rachel struggled out, deciding she needed to inform the girl that murder was simply a bad decision for the both of them to commit to. "You will slushie me twice more today, because there's time for it. Then you'll slushie me three times a day for the rest of the week. Maybe toss me in a dumpster or two. I could even see one of your minions spray-painting 'fagspawn' on my locker like they did in freshman year if you really feel like twisting the knife. You're not murderous, Santana, you're cruel and malicious, and you prefer a living target to torment. I've dealt with your abuse for long enough to know I'm not about to be murdered or kneecapped, so please just be accurate next time you hand out punishments to people wholly undeserving of them. It at least gives a reasonable expectation of what I'll have to endure, while leaving room for you to be creative and surprise me with some new technique or act to humiliate me." She rambled, not breaking eye contact with the girl that was basically straddling her hips.

Santana kept glaring at her for a few seconds after Rachel had stopped speaking before standing up fully. "Is that so, hobbit?" Santana asked with a sort of venomous playfulness, dripping in both amusement and disdain. It was quite an admirable tone given her reputation and actions, and Rachel was sure that she sort of wanted to learn that in order to bolster her acting skill portfolio in the future. "You're telling me what I'm going to do to you?"

"I'm simply laying out what options you have. You cannot physically mutilate anyone here at school, or murder them. There wouldn't be any point considering the legal risk of both activities, so it's much more efficient to torture me with actions that effectively go unpunished by administration, as well as a healthy amount of fear tactics to get into my mind in an attempt to scare me." Rachel rambled again, trying to hide her nerves, but Santana had always been the perceptive one. She was like a shark smelling blood in the school, and could easily sniff out vulnerabilities of anyone she passed by. It was something of a gift, and Rachel felt that if Santana was dedicated and motivated enough, she could become a fantastic lawyer.

Santana walked slow circles around Rachel's fallen self, her eyes never leaving Rachel's own mocha pair. "And are you scared now?" It was a simple question, but Rachel really had to consider it. She had always been a little scared of the cheerleader ever since last year when she started, but it was more of a feeling that whenever Santana was around, something bad would happen, not necessarily something frightening or scary. Truly, it was the same feeling she got with any of the cheerleaders. It wasn't something she felt was fair, and after a long day of being pushed around and attacked, she found that she was kind of fed up about it all.

"I'm worried that I'll have yet another set of ruined clothes by the end of the day. I'm worried that one day my teachers won't accept that I've been slushied anymore, and that missing a part of class will stand on my record of attendance despite the truth of the matter. I'm upset that someone willfully pushing me rather forcefully into you makes this somehow my fault in your eyes. I'm angry that every day I go home and my fathers always excitedly ask how my day was, and I have to lie to them about it unless I want to break their hearts. I'm disappointed that the school's power hierarchy ensures that I'm punished for being a small, talented girl with two dads who will escape Lima and be successful in New York. I'm disappointed in _you_ , Santana, for just following along like a mindless pack dog when I know you're better than that. But am I scared of you?" Rachel ranted, feeling that passionate flame of drama fully lit within her chest. "No. I just find myself exhausted by you cheerleaders and your antics. So just get on with it so we can both find better uses for our time."

Santana, for her part, merely appraised her, the flaming rage in her eyes all but extinguished in exchange for an amused curiosity. "Whatever. Next time you decide to recite War and Peace, leave me out of it. You'll have company after each period for the rest of the day, dwarf." The cheerleader spoke wearily, walking away with a lazy wave over her shoulder.

Rachel sat up from where she'd been splayed out, the period having long since started, though fortunately she had been on her free period for the day. Even though the halls were empty and there were no witnesses to what she'd done, she couldn't help but smile. _I stood up to Santana Lopez!_

Sure, she knew she'd be getting slushied a few more times that day, far more than her emergency packs could accommodate, but she'd deal with it. She always did.

* * *

The second time didn't seem like much of an accident. Rachel never understood why gym class was always filled with sports, when they could simply be exercising away in a number of manners; Coach Lorenzen had split the class into two teams for an impromptu rugby game. It didn't matter that almost no one in class understood how to play rugby, of course.

Rachel had long since been prepared for such occasions. She'd always committed to gym class in order to keep herself in peak physical condition, but it also meant that she needed to know how to perform in many of the sporting events in order to not humiliate herself or put herself in danger of injury.

The game was messy, even after the coach took ten minutes to explain the basics which were immensely simple to understand in Rachel's mind. When the game got underway, she put herself in position as the left wing, and watched as much of the rest clumsily tried to figure out where they needed to be; only Santana and Brittany, who set themselves as the scrum-half and right wing respectively, seemed to have an idea of what was going on. Unfortunately, they were on the opposing team.

The game was an absolute mess, most not having any idea how to do anything, most making illegal tackles all over the field. Thankfully, after an incredibly clumsy scrum, she found the ball in her hands, and that meant that she could do something. Years of dance lessons and cardio training ensured she was agile enough for her position, and she had been called deceptively fast by Coach Lorenzen before, speed which seemed to take others by surprise as she ducked and weaved her way past the opposing forwards. Despite clearly not knowing the game, Rachel was pleased to see Quinn doing her best to clear her some room, along with some other cheerio that had slushied her three times in the past month.

It was only by sheer luck that when Santana appeared directly in her periphery that she was able to pivot herself fully, only letting the taller girl graze her as the cheerleader stumbled past. Rachel quickly, seeing Brittany closing in on her, tossed the ball back to a waiting Quinn before joining the rush again. The girl made it about ten steps before being tackled by Brittany, who was like bottled lightning out there, but she was pleased with the forward push. After a few minutes and more attempts, they'd ended up with a try, which was pleasing.

It was on the next offensive rush, this time the other team pushing against Rachel's, that Santana barreled into her, despite Rachel being nowhere near the ball carrier. She, of course, stumbled and went to a knee for a moment, before chasing after the girl and the rest of the group that had started passing them by. Rachel was by no means a sore loser or a cheater, but she wasn't one to take a hit and just forget about it, not when they were playing rugby with apparently minimal regulations.

So when Santana got passed the ball, Rachel sideswiped the girl with a wholly legal tackle, tearing the cheerleader down to the ground from mid-sprint. From then on, the game went back and forth, the match ending in an underwhelming tie. No one seemed entirely pleased with the result, and while everyone had still been clumsy, many had started to get a feel for the game by the end of the period.

Rachel, as per usual, changed closest to the locker room doors; it was always her goal to get in and out as fast as possible, but her leg hurt from one of Brittany's tackles, so she was trying to be as patient with herself as possible in order to not aggravate her minor injury. At least, until she felt and heard the slap that impacted against her ass, sending her reeling forward momentarily until she caught her balance on the wall. Her head pivoted quickly, no one apparently having paid attention, and spotted Santana walking away from her leisurely with a little more sway to her hips than usual. Rachel's face went beet red, and she knew she should have just marched over to her and told her off, but the girl was surrounded by her Cheerio friends, and that made her fairly invulnerable.

She quickly changed and made her way into the halls, marching over to Santana's locker. Rachel pulled out a sheet of lined paper and scrawled out a short note about how she didn't appreciate having her body handled in such a manner, and that if Santana wished to touch her inappropriately, she may instigate rumours that the cheerleader had a ravenous interest in her physical assets as payback.

Afterward, Rachel stormed off to her next period, entirely aggravated and annoyed by the other girl's behavior.

* * *

Rachel was pretty certain that the third time was far from an accident. She had enjoyed a nice, calming lunch outdoors, enjoying the beautiful weather, and was just heading inside when she collided with something and immediately felt a freezing cold sensation on her chest.

"San, your ice-cream!" Rachel heard Brittany exclaim in a panic, too annoyed and frustrated to open her eyes and see the smirk that she knew was gracing Santana's lips. "Now all you have is the cone, and that's like, the worst part. It's not even a waffle cone, or one of the drumstick ones filled with chocolate."

"Don't worry, B, it's still salvageable." Santana noted reassuringly, though Rachel could hear the playfulness in the tone, and her eyes snapped open to see what the girl would try to do. Rachel saw the big scoop of ice-cream on her chest and neck, the absolutely non-vegan milky cream streaming down and seeping into her dress. It was horrible and nauseating. But just as she was about to remove the offending cold snack food from her body, Santana's hand took hold of it and placed the messy scoop back onto her cone, Brittany clapping excitedly, clearly happy for her friend. "See? It's totally good... right, Berry?"

Rachel just crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Santana, who had this absurdly infuriating smirk plastered on her face. "I'm not amused by your latest prank, Santana. As a vegan, you've made me very uncomfortable, and you've more than likely ruined this dress. Now, if you don't move out of the way of the doors, I might simply expel vomit on you, and neither of us wants for that to occur." She rambled nervously, the scent of the strawberry ice cream fueling her nausea with each passing second. Strawberry was the worst.

For a moment, Santana looked legitimately concerned, but Rachel knew she shouldn't have fallen for it as Santana took a step forward and, with her free hand, wiped off the majority of the remaining cream from her chest. Rachel's eyes bulged at how absolutely inappropriate the gesture was, and she nearly choked on her tongue as Santana took the cream-covered digits into her mouth. If she wasn't Rachel Berry, and if that wasn't Santana Lopez, she would have considered the possibility that she was being flirted with. Instead, she just got more aggravated at the girl's attempt to get her riled up and quickly pushed past the cheerleaders and rushed down the hallway toward the nearest washroom.

* * *

The fourth time, Rachel wasn't really sure. She'd gotten fairly paranoid since Santana had joined glee, and had done her absolute best to steer clear of the girl who was constantly tormenting her. Whether with slushies, or getting cheerios to hassle her in the halls, or her rather physical and personal pranks, Rachel was constantly on edge. Sure, the girl had merely taken her advice when it came to fear tactics, but she really hadn't wanted Santana to take it so far.

But when Santana, in her wheelchair, rammed into her in the middle of their choreography in the auditorium, propelling her out of her chair, she really had to keep herself from snapping at the girl. After all, glee was her sanctuary, and she needed to stay composed if she were to be respected there.

"Berry, why are you always in the way?" Santana snarked at her, prompting Rachel to get to her feet, brushing herself off.

"Santana you seem to have a habit of seeking out physical contact with me against my will. Is there something you'd like to tell the rest of glee?" Rachel bit back, not really certain what else she could say to both defend herself and show Santana that she wouldn't take the girl's harassment lying down anymore.

Santana's face immediately darkened, slowly wheeling toward the diva, the rest of glee looking on. "You're lucky I'm a team player in here, hobbit. Now get in the stupid chair and let's keep going…the sooner we finish, the sooner I can put you in your place."

Rachel begrudgingly knew Santana had a point; they were short on rehearsal time and needed to make the most of it. So she got back in and they continued without incident, but all throughout practice she felt the raven-haired girl's eyes on her.

* * *

The fifth time wasn't an accident at all. Santana hadn't lashed out at her directly after the wheelchair rehearsal, to Rachel's surprise, aside from an extra slushie that day at least. Weeks passed, in fact, without much incident. Santana did bump into her fairly often, whether in the halls or in glee, and occasionally she blocked Rachel when she tried going into rooms, or tried opening her locker. Mere minor annoyances at most. The entire Quinn drama had peaked, and Rachel figured Santana was too busy helping her blonde friend out to harass her, but soon enough that all came to an end.

It was four days after sectionals when Rachel found herself without a ride home. Her father Hiram had been out of town in some conference when the surprise snow storm hit, and her daddy Leroy had gone to help him out of a ditch somewhere just outside of Columbus. So she was left to walk two and a half miles home. It certainly wasn't a nice day outside, and despite being bundled up with her hat, scarf, mittens and parka, she knew she'd be cold when she got outside.

As usual when walking home, she cut across the football field to save herself a few minutes, not wanting to spend any extra time outside in the snowy weather than she needed to. However, fate seemed to have other plans, perhaps nasty ones, which were made evident when she heard another pair of boots crunching against the snow a bit behind her and to her left.

"You lost, dwarf? The parking lot's the other way, but with your height, I'm sure it's easy to get lost with the snow up to your chin and all." She heard Santana note, clearly amused about something, but Rachel couldn't understand what was humourous about the situation.

"I'm simply walking home, if you must know. It's a nice additional bit of supplementary exercise, which I imagine will only create a more strenuous workout as the snow builds." She explained tersely, hoping Santana would leave her alone, but it clearly wasn't going to happen. Rachel had hoped that supporting the cheerleader during sectionals would get her off her case, but it didn't seem to have worked.

"It's too chilly out here to use so many words, Berry." Santana sighed as the cheerleader caught up to her, walking closely by her side. "Thought you'd be prepared enough to avoid walking home in a damn blizzard."

Rachel laughed at that; it clearly wasn't a blizzard, though the snowfall as getting heavier. "My daddy took the car I brought here so he could go get my father. He was in a car accident." Rachel noted firmly, hoping Santana would leave it at that.

"Shit, that sucks, Berry. He alright?" Santana asked, sounding mostly indifferent, but there was more than a hint of concern there. It was suspicious, and it immediately put Rachel on edge.

"Why are you following me, Santana?" she grit out, marching ahead at a bit faster pace, but Santana had grabbed a hold of her scarf, keeping her from getting too far without choking herself. Weeks and weeks of bottled up frustration and aggravation spilled out from her at that moment; she was too tired and cold and frustrated to take any more of the girl's harassment. "What is it now?! What do you want from me?! You're so exhausting to deal with! Is there something I can do to just get you to leave me alone for once?!" she yelled at the Cheerio, whose placid expression just infuriated her that much more. "Well?!"

Santana seemed to consider something for a moment, biting her lip, before nodding. "Yeah. There is." The girl said softly, and with one firm tug, Rachel was stumbling into the cheerleader, whose arms kept her from falling straight into the fluffy snow beneath them.

Now, Rachel wasn't one for violence, but for a split second she really just wanted to hit the girl and keep hitting her until she left her alone. As she went to steady herself, she felt her body be tugged yet again, pressing her right up to Santana's body. Rachel lifted her head to ask Santana what she was doing when she felt arguably the softest lips in the universe gently touch down upon hers, if just for a moment.

Reflexively, to keep her unsteady self from falling to the ground from both shock and the surprisingly wonderful sensation running through her, she threw her arms under Santana's armpits and pulled the girl close by the shoulder blades. Santana adjusted her grip as well, moving one hand to the small of her back and the other hand clasping the back of her neck, pulling Rachel's head impossibly closer to her as Santana pressed yet another soft, sensual kiss against her lips. Rachel was almost too surprised to return the favour, especially considering it was Santana that was kissing her, but she appreciated the dramatics of it all and leaned forward into the kiss, taking a chance and nipping lightly at Santana's lower lip.

And then Rachel came to know that Santana was a sorceress when it came to kissing. She wasn't even sure what happened, or how it happened; her mind was too caught up in the fact that Santana's lips, teeth and tongue made her feel absolutely electric to notice they'd somehow made the long trek back to the parking lot. That knowledge was only bestowed upon her when Santana surprisingly lifted her up by her bum and rested her on the hood of a car. That was enough to spur her out of her daze, her mittened hands gently pushing Santana back out from between her legs, putting them about a foot away from each other.

Rachel took a few deep, difficult breaths in an attempt to calm her down; her breath control was usually excellent, but the kiss had caught her off guard, and she wasn't really actively thinking through most of it, just reacting. Her gaze was locked on the absolutely lustful expression Santana was wearing, and she had to try really hard to suppress the smile that she normally would have allowed. Rachel had never had anyone look at her like that, kiss her like that, want her like that. Sure, Puck had wanted to make out, but she never felt like anything special to him. The way Santana was looking at her was different, and she wasn't quite sure she was opposed to it.

"Santana…I don't understand. I…I appreciate it, but…you've confused me terribly." She sputtered out, despite trying her best to sound calm and collected.

Santana closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly, before she opened the driver's side door and gestured for the brunette to follow. Rachel brushed off as much snow from her coat as she could before getting in; she didn't want to make a mess, after all.

The drive home was silent, and she was surprised Santana knew where she lived. After a few moments of sitting in the driveway, Santana let out a sigh. "Look, I…can I explain inside? I can't think, just sitting still and everything, and I don't know how much I want to say or whatever." The girl stated with a furrowed brow, looking a little uncertain and hesitant. Rachel nodded and left the vehicle, unlocking the front door. She kept the door open and stomped the snow off her boots before entering, Santana doing the same before closing the door behind them.

Rachel felt entirely nervous as she led Santana into the living room; she didn't want to pressure the cheerleader by sitting too close, so she grabbed the empty recliner and waited for Santana to get out what she needed to. It had been a good enough kiss for Rachel to feel that the girl had earned the right to explain herself, despite their history.

"Look, I'm not good at talking about shit like this so just listen and let me work through it…okay?" Santana asked as she paced around the living room aimlessly. "I never hated you, alright? It was just the law of the land, and what I was supposed to do as a cheerleader. And then I ran into you that one day and you called me on all my shit. Like, seriously, no one's ever talked to me like that before, making me feel worthless and invisible and shit."

"I made you feel worthless? And…you're hardly invisible, Santana." Rachel interrupted, earning a frustrated glare from the cheerleader.

"Fucking let me speak, alright?! You…you said I was just like all the other cheerleaders, that I could be better but I wasn't. Fucking low blow, but you were right, okay? I was so angry for the rest of the day, because I didn't know how to freaking handle you anymore. You tore me a new one and I wanted payback, but I didn't know how to get the right kind, something that would set me apart, you know? Something you'd remember, that none of the others would do." Santana rambled, and it was kind of endearing to see her so focused on saying such simple, candid things. And it was nice to know that Santana had listened to her completely. She knew from experience that most didn't. "And I was fucking stumped for so long, and then coach made us play rugby and you were a fucking lioness at it. Like, a wild fucking animal! Rachel Berry, hater of basketball, football, and pretty much any contact sport…running around like fucking Mercury out there! No one could touch you!"

Rachel had to grin a little at how worked up Santana was, yelling about her admittedly sub-par rugby prowess. She wasn't all that good; she was just agile and fast like Brittany, but with less top end and reach than the blonde due to their differing statures. Rachel held to Santana's request for silence, but gave her a thankful smile for the compliment.

"And when you friggin' spun on a dime and I basically slid over your hip, that was it. Next opportunity I had, I fucking ran into you, because you were so frustrating and surprising and I didn't even know what to think about you." Santana continued her rant, pausing her pacing for a moment as she bit hard into her lip, a wistful look spreading across her face for a moment. "But then you tackled me."

Rachel couldn't help but laugh at how happy Santana looked and sounded at the memory of her basically throwing the taller girl into the dirt. She couldn't hold her silence any longer. "I just wanted to bring you down to earth, a little bit. I play by the rules."

"That's just it, though. You really don't. You're supposed to be a loser that got hurt from every slushie or whatever, but you were like an impenetrable fortress. Nothing we did could tear you down, and then you freaking call me out on my shit, and you challenge the whole hierarchy at school? BADASS. You get hit by Quinn's right hand enforcer, and you annihilate her both in the halls AND on the field, within the legal rules of the game? Do you have any idea how awesome that was? How…how aroused I was?" Santana choked out that last bit nervously as she renewed her pacing. Rachel didn't know how to speak anymore, too much in shock from the revelation to really do much but gape at the cheerleader. "It's like, fuck, you don't talk shit to any of the other cheerleaders, just me. And even though you were tackled illegally all game, I was the one you wanted revenge against. It felt awesome. I…I felt like hot shit! It's why I slapped your ass…which I'm totally kind of sorry about, by the way…I just felt awesome that you were singling me out." Santana quickly shot out, blushing with her hands up apologetically.

Rachel thought about it for a moment and realized that while Santana had aggravated her tremendously, so did Quinn much of the time, yet she always just tried to make friends with her in hopes of being inclusive, hoping Quinn would find a home in glee. And she tended to ignore the other cheerleaders outright. In hindsight, she HAD singled Santana out, especially since the day she talked back to her. It was a peculiar bit of information, but perhaps not the most pertinent. She, after all, had not been all that amused by Santana at all, but perhaps she did enjoy the cheerleader's attention in some form along the way.

"And then I got back to my locker and you'd left a fucking note telling me you'd basically out me if I kept it up, even though I knew you wouldn't because you're too goddamn nice, but I kind of got the message. I really tried, alright? But then I bumped into you when I was with Britt, and I spilled ice cream on you, and it was like, the one day of the year you actually decided to show off your breasts." Santana continued exasperatedly, and Rachel had to agree to a degree that the dress she'd sadly had to discard did wonderful things for her chest region. It was also nice to know that it was an accident, and that Santana hadn't purposely spilled the food onto her. She rather liked that dress. "And I, like, I just couldn't help myself. I felt really bad because I know you're vegan, and I tried to clean it all off, and after I took the scoop off I was feeling pretty good about keeping decent boundaries, but between you being upset about the leftover bit, and how when you crossed your arms, it made your breasts perk up, I just…I went into my red-alert mega-flirt mode. And I really like berry flavoured ice cream, and I really wanted to touch you, and I felt horrible about it after, but…fuck."

Rachel considered the information, blushing over the fact that Santana found her attractive and couldn't help herself physically around her. Puck was a sex shark, and even he was restrained with her. That Santana felt she had to touch her, however inappropriate it was, was kind of flattering in a fairly inappropriate way. "What about the wheelchair incident?"

"Berry, you suck at working wheelchairs. You were like, ten seconds behind in the choreography all practice long, and everyone was just trying to avoid hitting you and Finn, who was even worse." Santana noted with amusement, biting her lip to keep herself from laughing. "I didn't mean to knock you over, but I had to keep face."

Rachel leaned back in her recliner, popping out the footrest and layout out on it, trying to get comfortable. "So…you kissed me because I talked back to you, tackled you, and apparently have nice breasts? Because that simply doesn't add up in my mind." she asked, not wanting to read into Santana's words too much for fear of getting anything wrong, or putting words into the girl's mouth.

"I kissed you because at sectionals, you believed in me. Even though I've frustrated the shit out of you and hurt you, you still believed in me. You saw me, and…you let me know that there's still someone out there other than Q and B who see me as a real person, even if I'm still a hardcore bitch." Santana said softly, walking over to the window and looking out at the snowstorm. "And I thought back to when you called me out and you told me I could be better. So fuck it, I decided to be better. I spent the past few weeks helping out Q with her kid and her bills and shit. I've been tutoring B, visiting my abuela more, being nicer in the halls…as nice as I can be without Sue kicking me off the team. And...and I saw you walking home in the snow and I wanted to give you a ride home, but I didn't know how to ask you, and I got nervous and shit."

Rachel let out a laugh at that, but felt bad seeing as her amusement only made Santana appear sad and uncomfortable. "You could have just asked. I'm quite forgiving and I might have accepted."

"Britt said I should have been a lot nicer to you, like giving you flowers or compliments or whatever, but I don't know how to do that without getting word vomit or going catatonic, and I figured you'd be totally suspicious and get super paranoid, so I decided I couldn't." Santana explained in a rambling fashion that kind of made her proud, and Rachel could understand. Santana had shown her sympathy about her father getting in an accident, and it had put her on edge immediately, sending her into something of a mini-tirade. A rose probably would have been a lot worse; it might have induced a panic attack. "I just didn't want you to walk all that way alone, so I figured I'd walk and show you I wasn't always a huge bitch, and maybe you'd warm up to me. But you got really mad and I didn't know what to do, so I kind of just figured 'screw it' and kissed you."

"You haven't asked again whether my father's alright." Rachel noted curiously, wondering why. Santana just shrugged nervously.

"I…I figured that since you weren't freaking out and checking your phone every thirty seconds, that he was okay. That since your dad was driving to wherever he is, that it wasn't a hospital, maybe. I don't know. You seemed okay." Santana rambled quietly, wringing her hands a bit as she continued watching the snow fall.

"He's fine." She answered, drawing a soft, relieved smile on the other girl's face that seemed so foreign that she almost looked like an entirely different person. "So…what do you want me to take from this? You kissed me because I made you feel confident and because you panicked?"

"I kissed you because you made the idea of being Santana Lopez again sound worthwhile and appealing, like it would be a good thing. Even if you're, like, totally straight, I kind of wanted to thank you anyway." Santana noted calmly, her eyes so soft with wonder at the sight of the snow falling outdoors. Rachel peeked from where she was seated, and figured it looked just like it always did, just with more snow, and with darker skies due to winter.

"And if I wasn't totally straight?" she asked softly, wondering what Santana would say to that less than hypothetical situation. The girl didn't take her eyes off of the scene outside, but she blushed a little and smiled a little bigger.

"Then I…I guess I'd tell you that there's this Santana Lopez girl at school who's kind of maybe up your alley. She loves music, especially jazz, but she has a secret soft spot for musical theatre. That last summer, while on vacation in New York with her parents, she snuck out of the hotel and caught a show of 'Wicked!'." Rachel gasped at the revelation, excited to know someone else who would go to great lengths to see such a fantastic performance. "And while she has a bit of a rough past, she really does try to be a good person. And she's excited to make snow angels outside. And she might have already bought you a birthday gift as a means to apologize, but I'm only telling you that because she heard you hate surprises."

Rachel just sat there in her chair for a few minutes, thinking over everything that was said from their chance encounter in the halls up until then. It was arguably the least romantic courtship she'd ever taken part of but after about ten minutes or so of heavy deliberation, she looked back up to Santana, who still had that soft, content expression on her face, clearly comfortable in the same room with her, just staring out at the snowy scenery.

"You understand why I could think this whole thing was a potential prank, right?" she asked, drawing a nod from Santana, whose expression fell. "You realize that you've made my life hell for months, and a single event couldn't make up for that." Again, Santana nodded in agreement. "You understand why I could be suspicious and paranoid?"

Once again, Santana nodded, the girl's head seeming to be heavier with each gesture of understanding. "But do you understand why none of that matters?"

Santana finally turned her head toward Rachel, offering her a questioning look before shaking her head.

"Because I'm not interested in that cheerleader. Instead, I'd like to meet this girl you spoke so highly of." Rachel noted with a coy smile, amused at how big Santana's eyes got at her words. "She sounds lovely, and I hear she's a good kisser…so why don't you come over here and sit with me, so you can tell me all about her."

Santana smiled so brightly at her that Rachel couldn't help but be happy she was laying in her chair, not melting to the floor. "I'd love to."


	2. Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel’s frustrated. Santana’s drunk, again. Yet, for the first time in a long time, the drunken girl’s making some sense of her sorrow, and Rachel plans to do something about it.

"Berry, you don't get it." Santana drunkenly replied for perhaps the twentieth time in the past twenty minutes. She'd come back into the apartment at two in the morning, kicking up a huge stink, being a big drunken mess, and I didn't appreciate it all that much. After all, I'm a future Broadway star, needing my beauty sleep and rest to perform at a level of excellence each day. Santana knew this, and still had the nerve to wake me up. It was necessary with the state she was in, sure, but also preposterous that the girl would get so drunk so often.

Of course, I knew that she didn't purposely do so, but the least she could have done as my roommate was be considerate and not drink herself into a stupor at an absurd hour, turning the conversation around into a vague, undefined area every time I pressed for information and clarity. I'm a curious person, and I need answers. Santana knew this, even if 'drunk Santana' didn't.

We'd been living together for months, and while there had been a rocky start, I kind of really liked having Santana around when she wasn't blackout drunk. She'd mellowed out over time and was less snarky with me and Kurt, instead keeping that fun thorny side for the rest of New York to deal with. It didn't hurt that even though she occasionally stumbled into the apartment with weird furniture finds or miraculous yard-sale bargains, she was always on top of her assigned chores and would often do any that I would forget, while lambasting Kurt with mockery if he ever forgot his. It was kind of fun to be on Santana's sweet side for once, so I didn't question it. It just meant that I had to help her get to bed on her drunken nights out, which was proving to be especially difficult tonight.

"Santana, I need you to either get off the couch, or to explain what I don't get, because I don't like seeing you upset, and we both need sleep." I stated as softly as I could, pushing a stray lock of hair behind the taller girl's ear. I understood that her hearing was likely sensitive at that point of her drunkenness, so being loud would likely be frowned upon. It wasn't as if I wasn't speaking softly to her for other reasons, I simply didn't expect her drunken self to pick up on how much I cared for her.

"You got like, fuckin' Baskin Robbins and shit! It's like a fucking candy store for you, it's not fair!" Santana exclaimed with fresh tears streaking down her flushed cheeks. I had gotten accustomed to Santana crying when she was drunk; it was something I had seen the odd time in high school, but living with her meant I was exposed to that side of her often. Santana Lopez was a weepy hysterical drunk, and while it was nice knowing the taller girl would be her regular self come the morning, it often made me wonder if it was just a build-up of pain and insecurity that made her that way when inebriated. I knew her life hadn't been tremendously easy, whether at school or at home. It was worrying.

"I…I don't understand whatever analogy you're trying to make, Santana." I stated, my mind taking a few seconds to realize that the girl was talking about choice for some reason. "Are you saying I have the freedom to make a lot of choices in my life? Do you feel stuck?" This, I understood. I had worked tremendously hard to give myself opportunities, and while Santana did as well, her efforts were often in things that didn't interest her nearly as much, leaving her working at bars instead of pursuing her dreams. I knew she had great potential, I just needed for her to see it.

Santana shook her head, lifting her gaze to look at me with her dark, beautiful eyes, as pained as they were. It was never a pleasant experience to see Santana cry so honestly and without restraint; I always just wanted to hug her and make it better, but I was never sure that the girl would appreciate that. Sometimes she'd gesture me close to give me one, but much of the time she was distant instead. "Fucking lots of people who'd love to go berrypickin' and you get to be all choosy. You're fucking amazing and get tons of people fawnin' on you and I have…I don't get that." Santana moped, and finally, after many minutes of pointless runaround discussion, she was making sense. For the first time in months of drunken rants, she was making sense.

I didn't agree wholeheartedly, of course, as I wasn't being pursued with incredible conviction yet, but over the span of my freshman year I'd gained a number of relatively committed suitors. Especially after winning the Winter Showcase. It was nice, however, to know Santana had noticed, and that she seemed to agree with it all happening. She was just apparently envious of me, which seemed sort of absurd until I recalled her brief history in the city. "Santana, you've taken a lot of girls in for one night stands…I know you don't want to hear it, but you probably exiled yourself from a few communities with how you treated some of them."

"They only wanted flings and shit, okay? Just wanted all up on this…" Santana said sadly, using her hands to gesture to her whole body. "…instead of this." The girl finished meekly, pointing generally to where her heart was, and that small, vulnerable gesture nearly broke my heart. It was true, Santana was absolutely stunning; I'd long had something of a crush on her for her physical attributes, but after having gotten to know her, I knew she was more than that, and my heart had made all the proper adjustments. I didn't like the idea of Santana feeling used or valued only for her body.

I gently coerced her to slide down on the couch, to lay on my chest while I reclined back and rested my head on my favourite over-stuffed throw pillow. Santana didn't really put up a fight at all, sliding down with me, the girl's arms wrapping around my waist as she turned on her side a little. "San, there are people out there who will love you for you, okay? It's going to be okay." I whispered into her hair, hoping that she'd find it encouraging. I'd never helped anyone through such colossal universal heartbreak. I'd never had to help anyone through the notion that they were unlovable.

"I jus… I jus wanna come home and…and feel home, you know? Have someone there who shows me and shit that they…you know. Everythin'. Whatever." I didn't really know what she meant specifically, but it wasn't all that hard to tell what the girl wanted. Honestly, it wasn't that much to ask for. Santana wasn't asking for a tall leggy blonde physique in her partner, she wasn't asking for large breasts, or a firm ass, or someone taller than her. Santana wasn't asking for someone who had money or a certain career path, and she wasn't asking for someone with a specific set of hobbies or culinary tastes.

She just wanted someone who made her feel loved, and showed it to her whenever they got the chance. Looking back, it seemed fairly obvious, what with Brittany providing Santana with that treatment, to a degree, in high school. If the blonde hadn't been so quick to jump ship and try dating other people, she was sure Brittany would have been perfect for Santana, but instead, Santana was alone. And I knew that simply would not stand.

I certainly wasn't in love with the girl I was holding, at least not yet; I wouldn't attest to feeling that because honesty is important. However, I truly did care very much for the girl, and I still carried a sizeable crush on her, and she'd grown on me significantly since becoming a fully-fledged roommate. I was single, she was single. I was lonely, she was lonely. It was certainly worth a shot, and I knew from past history that Santana could be friends with someone after breaking up with them, so the potential for colossal, irreparable damage was slim. And I knew we both enjoyed each other's company quite a bit, even if Santana was often reluctant to reveal that.

So I simply laid there with her in my arms, rubbing my hands up her back until she fell asleep. With her warmth on top of me, and the comfort of the couch and pillow, I knew that I wasn't far from a similar fate, but it gave me enough time to plan. I am, Rachel Barbra Berry, after all.

* * *

It took until the end of the week to gather all the necessary supplies, and for Kurt to leave the city for the weekend, hoping to rekindle what he had with Blaine back in Lima. I knew that my plan, which I had fleshed out after that Tuesday night, was not foolproof; however, it would be well orchestrated and worth a try, and with school out for the summer, I had all day to prepare while Santana worked her long shift at the bar. She'd been curious that I'd taken a nap in the afternoon, but didn't seem to think much of it. Once she left I'd quickly arranged everything. Rachel Barbra Berry was nothing if not prepared, after all. I'd needed that extra bit of sleep to be fully awake when Santana got home around two in the morning; it'd mess up my sleep schedule, but it would hopefully be worth it in the end.

As the hours ticked past, I found myself becoming more apprehensive, yet more confident at the same time. I thought that I'd made an excellent effort, even if I didn't know how she'd respond. I laid out a few candles, but not too many, and the lighting wasn't too romantic, just low enough for it to feel more cozy and relaxing. I'd made sure not to dress too formally, wearing my favourite grey asymmetrical sweater, the one I'd worn when I made Santana a full-time roommate, along with my nicest pair of jeans, according to Kurt. I didn't want to make it seem like it was a big occasion that was like, one big night or anything. I wanted for it to feel normal. To let her know that what she wanted was within her grasp. I just hoped that she'd be fine with it being me offering it.

I'd sent off a text earlier in the night asking if Santana could come right home after work, that I needed her honest and sober opinion on something important. Of course, Santana had texted back complaining a bit about the request, but when I'd insisted it wasn't a huge thing or dating advice, she seemed mostly satisfied, even if she was rankled that I said I couldn't promise I'd make it up to her. I didn't want her thinking that the rest of the night was her reward for something.

I smiled when I heard the familiar clacking of Santana's heels in the hall outside the apartment; I'd timed dinner perfectly, an activity that I had always found difficult to be punctual with. It wasn't a lot of food, more of a snack than dinner, but Santana was always hungry after her long shifts, and I wanted to show her that I remembered.

The door slid open, revealing a weary Santana, whose pace slowed to a crawl as she curiously appraised the apartment, looking a little confused. I took the food out of the oven, resting the ceramic casserole dish on the top of the stove before tossing the oven mitts and making my way to her. "Hey San, busy night at work?" I asked before pulling her into a lingering hug, hoping the girl's night hadn't been too unfortunate. Fridays were almost always full of horrors. Sometimes, if I was still awake and in a good enough mood, it was nice to hear Santana regale me with all the crazy stories.

As I pulled back, she stared suspiciously at me, but gamely nodded. "Uh, yeah. Just the regular Friday night shitshow." Santana stated, her eyes once again looking around, clearly noticing something was different, but it didn't seem that she knew what was going on. Which, for the moment, was probably for the best, anyway.

I smiled and took the opportunity of Santana looking off into the living room to leave a quick kiss on the girl's cheek before returning into the kitchen. "Come on, I figured you'd be hungry, and I was feeling a little peckish too, so I made food." I took great pride in my ability to slip in puns when the opportunity came up, although Santana didn't make a noise, so I supposed she probably was grimacing about it behind me. I didn't look back to confirm that. Some people just couldn't appreciate my wit.

Instead, I quickly went about getting the salads dished out, and Santana's spicy pulled chicken sandwich together and on the table. As I turned around, carrying all the food like a professional, something I had taken an hour to practice with only minimal issue, I noticed Santana was still standing by the door with one hand on her cheek, her eyes just looking at me questioningly. I hadn't expected her to just go along with my plan seamlessly, but she seemed a bit stunned, and I needed her to just sit down and eat with me. It took about a half minute and a long, nervous, expectant look to break the other girl from her daze.

"You did this for me?" Santana asked, her voice slightly softer than normal, staring at the plate of food in disbelief. I knew that Santana had traditionally always prepared her own food every night after her shifts, but I needed to let her know that I paid attention to what she liked. She made the pulled chicken quite a lot, especially after hard shifts, so it seemed like a safe choice.

"Well, you worked all night, and I didn't want you to come home and have to waste time cooking when I'm perfectly happy to do it for you." I stated, hoping I had chosen my words well; the small smile that resided on the girl's lips shortly after let me know I'd won a minor victory.

Santana took a bite of her sandwich and closed her eyes, letting out a wordless moan a second or two later. "Rach…how'd you know I needed one of these tonight?" The girl asked when she was done swallowing.

"I pay attention. I know Fridays are usually long, hard nights for you, and I know you make these sometimes after those shifts, so…I thought it'd cheer you up." I stated hopefully as I took a bite of my salad.

"But…Rach, I know you don't like cooking meat…I cook for myself because I don't want you to feel bad." Santana noted with a surprisingly worried expression that I hadn't expected. I knew that she was aware of my vegan diet, but I hadn't thought she'd put so much consideration into it all.

"That's sweet, Santana, but I don't mind doing it here or there if it makes you happy. I can cook it, I just won't eat it." I said hoping to reassure the girl that I was fine, which seemed to do the trick. That, and perhaps something else as Santana's head swiveled about curiously.

"I'm not swee…wait. Is that…did you put on my Eluvium records?" the girl asked wide-eyed at me as she took another bite.

I nodded sheepishly, having wondered when she would notice. "You always listen to them for a little while after work, so I thought I'd just save you the time and let you relax over your meal."

Santana's intense gaze bore into me for what felt like minutes, the girl clearly trying to figure out what was going on. "You know I'm officially suspicious now right?" the girl asked clearly, sounding something like a warning, though the soft smile on her face was reassuring enough to know it was just a warning that she'd be acting weird until she figured out what was happening.

"I understand entirely, but you don't have to worry about it. I know you're thinking that Quinn's hiding somewhere in the apartment with a surprise or something, but she's safe in New Haven." I insisted, and the relieved sigh from Santana let me know I had guessed right. It was something of a regular pattern when Santana would arrive home drunk to something unexpected. Quinn was, inexplicably, a sort of bogeyman to her. A harmless one, but one that Santana constantly expected whenever she noticed significant change in the apartment while drunk. I often wondered how many times Quinn had surprised Santana in the past, likely within the confines of her own home. It wasn't as if such behavior could just materialize without influence. Perhaps it was why Santana had insisted on combination locks for as many of their pieces of luggage and boxes with valuable items as possible, knowing Quinn was a handy lock-picker.

However, my assurances didn't keep Santana from taking another few glances around, just to be certain. "Are you gonna spill, or do I have to wait?" Santana asked with an amused smile gracing her lips, the girl's eyes sparkling with mirth. Santana had always been up for a challenge, after all.

"I promise you'll know before I head off to bed." That seemed to get the girl thinking, and the both of us sat silently until we both finished our food. I took the plates to the sink, and Santana offered to clean. It was a nice offer, and I could see she was still off-balance by it all, so I let her clean up, leaving another brief peck on her cheek before retreating to the living room.

I didn't have the most elaborate plan. I knew I wouldn't be able to prove everything in one night, but I knew that I could show I cared, and plant a seed for a potential future with her. I just needed her to know I was more than willing, if she was. So I strolled into the living room and lit one of the pomegranate and raspberry candles Santana tended to stock up on, hoping it would help. I waited on the couch in my usual spot, remote in hand, waiting for the other girl to arrive, entirely too nervous not to white-knuckle grip the long plastic device. Through our entire tenure at the apartment, she'd often hid away her love for sci-fi; well, she had ever since Kurt had rolled his eyes at her in disinterest and I questioned the artistic merit of some of the shows without giving them a chance. I wanted to give them a chance now, though; I wanted to see why they always managed to get her so enraptured.

"So are you going to tell me what you needed my honest and sober opinion on, Rach?" Santana asked as she cautiously entered the living area, smiling at the candle for a moment before plopping down right beside me. I rested my legs over her lap and flicked on the TV, the sound of Firefly's DVD menu fading in and filling the room.

I watched closely, gauging Santana's expression, but the girl just peered intensely at the screen, her teeth gently nibbling on her lower lip. "I thought you said you didn't have time for the gloriously underwhelming genre of science fiction." Santana stated curiously, her tone distracted as her gaze remained latched to the screen. It was clear she was slipping deep into thought.

"Sometimes first impressions aren't the most informative, as we both know. I want to make time for it, and I'd like to watch it with you." I noted softly, hoping Santana would agree. Much of the plan rested on the taller girl accepting the request. I'd hoped that it would be an easy decision, but long, agonizing seconds were passing by without an answer. "I just…I…I wanted to see the things that make you happy. To understand that side of you that you usually keep to yourself."

That managed to get her attention, Santana's head turning to give her an inquisitive expression. "Why?" the girl asked simply, without the hostility or malice that often tempered the girl's words.

"Because you're worth knowing, Santana. I'd…like to share things with you, I like our time together." I stated as confidently as I could, which wasn't very, considering how she was staring at me, and how it had been a few minutes since I'd turned the TV on. The girl bore into my eyes for what seemed like an hour, an agonizingly intense hour, before she shrugged and leaned against me.

"Okay."

The simple word lifted my heart, the simple weight of Santana against me eased my fears and worries, and the girl's simple scent of cinnamon ensured a smile never left my face. I immediately started the first episode, Santana informing me that she'd be up for two episodes before she'd be too tired to continue, which sounded fine to me.

The show was surprisingly well done and quite funny, the ensemble cast performing their roles believably, and the writing truly brought them to life. In my brief exposure to the series, I couldn't help but gain soft spots for Zoe, Mal and Kaylee; I was surprised to find I enjoyed the depth of the former soldiers, and the engineer's bubbly personality. I had a sneaking feeling that Kaylee was Santana's favourite, though the engineer's similar personality to Brittany was the only real clue I was working off of.

"So? Verdict?" Santana asked as the second episode finished, looking a little sleepy and hopeful. It was a cute look on her.

"It was entertaining, and I loved the writing! I believe I seriously underestimated the quality of this show, and I hope you'll join me for watching the rest some day." I said with a smile from my spot against the armrest, Santana laying on my chest as was often the result of our movie nights.

"I would have taken a 'It was great' or 'I liked it', but that'll do, hobbit. That'll do." Santana spoke happily as she shifted position to get more comfortable on top of me. "And I'll watch the rest with you for sure…any excuse to see more of Inara's sexy self is good enough for me."

I just nodded; I wasn't the biggest fan of the character's career choice, but she was positively alluring and elegant. "On that, we can both agree." I stated offhandedly, only soon after realizing that Santana had gone tense in my arms. Of course I'd let slip that I found such a character attractive before letting slip that I liked Santana; my plans never went off without a hitch, after all. "San?"

"You down some wine coolers before I got home, Berry?" The girl asked cautiously, moving to turn and face me, but I held her firm in my arms, not feeling confident enough to endure her gaze yet again.

"I…well…no. I'm completely sober, Santana." I noted nervously, Santana wriggling around in my arms, eventually breaking free of my hold; she quickly propped herself up on all fours and crawled over me, giving me that questioning expression that always seemed to pull secrets from my lips. Not that I was uncomfortable with her, or that I was distrustful of her, it was just something I liked having control over.

"You think Inara's sexy." Santana challenged, narrowing her eyes. I could only nod, gulping back my fears and nerves. "You find women attractive?"

I nodded again, slowly this time, which raised her eyebrows up her forehead in surprise though she made no effort to move away from me. "I've never liked to label my sexuality. I find people attractive, not set groups of people with specific reproductive organs." I blurted out nervously, trying and failing to keep my calm, Santana's raven hair tickling my cheeks as it curtained our faces.

Santana was quiet for a little bit, her eyes opening wider as a brief look of clarity washed across her face. "Is that why…all of this? You're trying to see if it'd work on some girl you have the hots for? Because I didn't need to be sober for that, Rach. You said you didn't need dating advice."

I shook my head, but couldn't help but feel a little worried that she hadn't picked up on the signals that I was trying to do things that made her happy. That showed her I cared. "I was honest, I don't need dating advice, Santana. I needed you sober because…just…just promise me you won't be angry, okay?" I asked, my fears and insecurities starting to take over as my eyes darted away from hers. I'd thought things had been going well, but it turned out that I hadn't gotten anything across to my roommate. It often ended up that I'd get nervous and say a lot without saying anything of clear value. Perhaps I did that again, though I thought I'd been rather forward. "Please, promise me…"

"Sure, whatever, Rach. I'm all ears…if you've been buttering me up to tell me you got pregnant for real this time, though, I might laugh a little before I go order some shit online for you." Santana answered softly, lifting up my chin with her free hand and forcing me to meet her warm gaze, forcing me to see that amused smirk on her lips. "Spill, Berry."

"I…I had tonight planned for a few days now. I didn't want tonight to be special…I want it to be normal." I started, Santana intently watching me with a confused expression etched across her beautiful features. "I wanted it to be normal because I wanted you to come home and…and feel at home here."

Santana let out a soft chuckle as she moved her hand to rest on my forehead, seemingly appearing concerned that I had a fever of some sorts. "Rach, are you feeling alright? I live here, of course this is home to me."

"No, I just…I mean…I want you to be able to come home and know you're safe here. That this is a place where you're cherished for all that you are, where you don't have to hide away your interests and passions from anyone. I want you to come home and know that you're a part of this home, along with me and Kurt, and that even if we're not here, or you're not here, that you're not alone." I rambled nervously, Santana's softened expression doing nothing to slow the torrid pace of the words bursting out of my mouth. "I want you to know that I don't mind cooking you meat if it means you smile. I want you to know that when you come home drunk out of your mind, I'll be here to take care of you, even if I'm so worried that I can barely function sometimes. I need you to know that your head and your heart are far more precious to me than any other part of you. I need you to know that when I get home, you're always the first thing my eyes look for. I need you to know that there's someone here that misses you when you're gone, who wants to be here in some form when you get back."

I took a deep, shuddering breath to try and get control of my emotions, my hand furiously wiping away the tears that relentlessly forced their way out. I hadn't been able to see the other girl for most of my rant due to my tear-induced blurry vision, and I certainly wasn't ready to meet her gaze, so I kept it on the hem of my sweater that my other hand was fiddling with nervously. "I need you to know that I'm here if you'll have me. And that I'm here if you won't."

Santana was silent above me yet again as I fought desperately not to break underneath her. As seconds passed, I started desperately wishing I hadn't talked to Santana on Tuesday night, that I hadn't gotten emotionally invested while making the plan, while having such a good night with the girl. Her hand migrated back down to cup my cheek, her thumb stroking it tenderly. "You could have anyone, Rachel." She heard Santana's strained whisper from above. I wiped my eyes again, daring to look at Santana; I knew that tone and I really needed Santana to know that I was serious.

"Does that mean I can have you?" I asked softly, leaning into the hand that was still resting against my cheek. I watched Santana mouth what looked to be an expletive as she grew flustered by my question.

"I work at a lesbian bar. I used to torment you. I always come home drunk and whiny and burden you with my shit. I…" Santana started, her voice hoarse as she listed off insignificant reasons for me to avoid her. It simply wasn't convincing, and I had to put an end to it.

"I've always wanted things too much, Santana. And I want this." I stated calmly, pressing my hand over her heart. "So unless you can tell me legitimately why my heart's not safe with you, and why yours wouldn't be with me, I'm going to keep waiting and working until you realize that it's okay that I feel something for you. I'll keep waiting for you to tell me that you don't want to be with me."

I gazed straight into her dark eyes, challenging her for some response to let me know what she needed from me. When her eyes darted off to the side and closed, I felt my hand leave her chest to cup her cheek. "I'm tired. Can we…just go to bed?" Santana pleaded softly. I nodded, caressing her cheek for a moment before letting her go, Santana easing her body off the sofa.

I followed her into the bathroom, compromising on a much more abbreviated nightly routine so that I'd finish at about the same time Santana did. I ended up finishing a bit earlier, surprisingly, and simply waited for her by the curtained off bedroom sections.

When she emerged, she looked tired, vulnerable and nervous, and I just wanted to kiss her worries away, even if it was likely a poor idea. I beckoned her closer innocently, and though I didn't expect her to react much, she surprisingly increased her pace across the floor and let me pull her into a brief hug. Wordlessly, I took her hand and led her into her bed area, only letting go when she moved across the room to set her alarm. Her expression was difficult to read in the dim lighting, so I simply slid into the bed and hoped that I could help understand her through touch.

I heard her slide in soon after, and I quickly shifted over to find her on the other side of the bed, facing away from me. Hesitantly, I slid my arms around her waist and pulled her up against me, my nose nuzzling into the crook of her neck. She was, after all, a bit taller than me. I felt her wriggle against me, trying to get comfortable, and was pleased to hear a happy sigh leave her throat.

"Are you sure?" I heard Santana ask quietly. It was a question I'd answered Tuesday night, so there was no hesitation on my part.

"I want you…if you'll have me." I answered softly, enjoying the close proximity to my roommate, her body's warmth making me far sleepier and cozier than I'd have previously imagined. It was nice.

"I do."

That was all I needed to hear for me to kiss the back of her neck softly, letting her know a fraction of my appreciation for that simple-yet-dramatic sentence. "I'll see you in the morning, San."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This, at the time I wrote it, was my first time writing in 1st person POV in years, so it's admittedly a little rough on that front, but since most of these one-shots are writing exercises to keep me fresh, I figured why not try it out? Anywho, hope you enjoyed!


	3. Rehearsal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world was Rachel Berry’s stage. Yet, no one told Santana until the lights went out and the curtain fell. The audience remained, however, and she had to face the encore.

With great trepidation, Santana approached the choir room that Wednesday afternoon; it was the club's second meeting of the school year, but it'd be the first that Santana would go to. Ever since Monday, she'd considered just quitting, but she was stronger than that. She'd been strong enough to endure it after Britt left her, she'd find enough strength that Wednesday to sit up there in the risers as usual, and maybe sing a song too, because fuck if she didn't need to express herself something fierce.

Fierce. Santana knew she should have been fierce, but if she were to be honest, the past year had torn most of the fight out of her. It wasn't something she'd admit verbally, but among the two people who knew her best, it was likely plain as day, which was why it hurt so much. It hurt that her pain didn't matter to them. Both had cared more about hurting someone else than they cared about hurting her; at least Britt had been honest and kind of led her into her new reality at a comfortable pace that was easier for her heart to handle, easier to process. Rachel was an entirely different mess.

One could wonder how Santana ever came to care for Rachel Barbra Berry and all her Broadway-loving glory, and it wouldn't be a terribly complex tale at all. A week after nationals, Rachel caught Finn fucking another girl at one of Puck's parties that she'd finally willed herself to go to for once, and the diva had unfortunately found a reason why Finn demanded she let him 'party with the bros alone' on those nights. Santana had been out getting some snacks for a late night bad movie marathon, and spotted Rachel walking on the side of the street on the way home. She'd been having a particularly lonely day, and was so desperate that she invited Rachel to watch hilariously bad movies like Ghost Storm and The Room, and it had been surprisingly awesome. Rachel, after calming down from her grief, had been a good, witty conversationalist and hadn't blabbed her ear off, so Santana had let herself enjoy the other girl's company not long after that night.

At the six week mark of their regular hang-outs, Rachel had kissed her, and that was kind of it for Santana. It wasn't long until she'd fallen for the pint-sized diva, until she'd found her entirely endearing where she'd once thought the singer annoying and abrasive. And Rachel, in turn, had softened her up, made her feel brave enough to be vulnerable and casual again, and for the rest of the summer they were attached at the hip, spending nearly every day together. August eighth, Santana told her she loved her at their favourite park, watching the sunset, and Rachel reciprocated four nights later after an admittedly sweet date she took the girl out on in Columbus. Before Rachel, Santana had been really working on healing after Britt, and the short brunette just finished the process, Santana feeling secure and safe in giving all of herself to the diva. She'd wanted to be shocked about it all, she'd wanted to fight it, but Rachel had proven herself to just be a perfect fit for her. No matter what issue was ailing her, Rachel always knew the right thing to say, the right words to use, the right distractions to help her through what she was dealing with. Santana remembered actually going to church a few days after Rachel's confession, making a tearful one of her own, thanking God for sending her that amazing young woman she'd spent all summer with. She'd never been so happy.

So when the day before the start of school rolled around and she didn't hear from Rachel, she chalked it up to nerves and preparation, knowing how much her girlfriend needed to plan out everything in order to feel settled and secure. It was kind of cute, and after calling and texting her a few times, she just let the girl be, capping the night off with her usual good night text. Rachel finally texted her back that night simply stating she'd have her own ride the next morning. It had been a little concerning, as Rachel had always ended her texts with some sort of affection that always made Santana feel special. She just assumed her diva was too tired to notice, and slept soundly, giddy to see her girlfriend and be out with her in the halls. They'd worked hard in the month leading up to school, Rachel encouraging Santana enough to feel comfortable being out and open, which Rachel celebrated with such warmth and excitement that Santana thought she'd do anything for the girl. Anything.

And when she walked cheerfully down the halls toward Rachel's locker, she really knew she'd have to do everything. The school would be hostile, she knew, and that meant she'd have to do dirty work to keep Rachel safe. Rachel's safety had been her first priority; Santana knew she could take care of herself, but Rachel was a fair bit smaller, and a pacifist, so she knew the school would see her as an easy target. She committed to doing whatever she was asked, so long as it kept her safe. It was only when she turned the corner and saw Finn making out with her girlfriend, Rachel responding passionately, that she realized Rachel would ask her to set her free. That maybe, Rachel wouldn't even ask her. Maybe she'd just expect it, demand it, and suddenly that familiar weight had come crashing down on her.

She'd spent the first three periods hyperventilating in a janitor's closet, trying not to have a panic attack, trying not to break down, trying not to lose her sanity. When lunch rolled around and she'd worked up the courage to venture the halls, and saw them kissing sweetly at a table in the cafeteria, talking and smiling at each other in the same way that the couple used to in junior year, she had to rush home. She had to keep herself from just breaking in front of everyone. So she had waited until she was home, in her shower, for her heart to break apart. She just closed her eyes and imagined every piece falling away from her and swirling down the drain, and she didn't have it in herself to do anything about it. She'd given her heart to her parents and they neglected it. She gave it to her abuela and she exiled it. She gave it to Britt, who decided someone else's was better and more deserving of her own. She gave it to Rachel, who loved it, caressed it, let it grow under her care, before stomping it into dust. Dust that just trickled down the drain with her body-wash as if it was just as disposable as some three dollar commodity one could by at a grocery store. Because apparently to everyone who mattered, it was, and Santana didn't understand why it had to be that way.

She'd skipped the rest of Monday, all of Tuesday, and pretty much all of Wednesday as well. Britt had sent her a few texts that went unanswered; she couldn't discuss her heartbreak with someone who so easily and willingly fractured hers before. No one else called to check in, no one else cared. She supposed it was something she should have realistically gotten used to, but she'd always had enough fight left to hope for better. She didn't have that anymore, standing outside the choir room doors, and she wasn't sure she'd ever get it back. Rachel had been her support system all summer, Rachel had been her strength, and she was gone.

Putting on her best mask, she slipped into glee nonchalantly, finding her way to an unoccupied corner, her unfocused eyes just staring at the piano until she felt she had the mental faculties to pay attention to everything going on in the room. Like Quinn rocking a hot pink hairdo, Britt sitting on Artie's lap, Mercedes clearly gossiping with Kurt and Blaine, Sam giving Mike an impression of Jon Voight that was surprisingly spot on, Finn and Rachel kissing in the front row.

Before Santana could fully deal with the sudden feeling of nausea that rushed through her body, Schue came strolling in, clapping his hands excitedly as he scanned the risers, taking in the sight of the membership.

"Well guys, no new members auditioning yet, but I have a feeling we'll get lucky soon enough. Until then, has anyone arranged a performance to show how their summer went? I know it's still early in the week, I'm just excited to hear you all express it in song and really get the past three months out there." The man spoke excitedly, and before she knew it, she was standing from her seat and walking down the risers, her body on auto-pilot. "Santana?" he asked quizzically, knowing full well that she very rarely ever took the time to do a solo in the choir room. She merely nodded at him, unsure if she had the ability to speak yet in the proximity of her girlfriend. The girl who hadn't officially called off their relationship. The girl who broke her heart. The girl she still loved, even if she only held the paper-mache replica of the diva's heart with her.

Santana handed the sheet music to the band, and wordlessly asked Brad if she could take the keys for once. It wasn't something she liked doing in public, mostly because in her childhood, she'd practiced the piano only when she was left alone. it had been a common occurrence, and Santana had always needed something to distract herself with or else she'd be crippled by loneliness. She wanted to think it was pathetic of her, but she was eight, then. Weren't kids that young supposed to be loved? Weren't they supposed to be sent to bed with at least a hug, or a kind word?

The music hit soon after and her fingers pressed the keys on time, her body taking a momentary reprieve from most of the real world so that she could perform. Music had never been her passion, but it was always her sanctuary. It calmed her, helped her express herself honestly, which is why when she generally just felt an all-encompassing numb sense of heartbreak, she knew that she probably wouldn't cry during the performance over Rachel breaking her heart. She'd cried too much in the past year to shed any more over heartbreak. Those tears meant sadness and loss, and she couldn't willingly sob over something she'd apparently only grazed, or rented for a limited time. The pain and hurt was still there over the illusion, over the betrayal, over the lies and false memories. The only thing she'd maybe cry about was that she'd been lied to about someone loving her again, letting her believe in something that she'd desperately wanted to exist, but so obviously didn't. And that was unforgivable in her books.

She didn't look at anyone when she sang, just the piano keys and the sheet music. It was easier that way.

 _How do you cool your lips, after a summer's kiss?_  
How do you rid the sweat, after the body bliss?  
How do you turn your eyes, from the romantic glare?  
How do you block the sound of a voice you'd know anywhere?

 _Oh I really should have known by the time you drove me home_  
By the vagueness in your eyes, your casual goodbyes  
By the chill in your embrace, the expression on your face that told me  
Maybe you might have some advice to give  
On how to be… insensitive

Santana wasn't sure how she'd fare at school; Rachel's voice had always filled the halls, and where it had once merely annoyed her, she knew that it would haunt her for months. She wasn't sure she'd be able to even look at Rachel after everything; it was too confusing and painful to even have a physical reminder available. For a moment she considered changing schools, wondering if maybe it'd be the easier way out, the safer route to whatever recovery she could manage alone.

 _How do you numb your skin, after the warmest touch?_  
How do you slow your blood, after the body rush?  
How do you free your soul, after you've found a friend?  
How do you teach your heart it's a crime to fall in love again?

 _Oh, you probably won't remember me_  
It's probably ancient history  
I'm one of the chosen few  
Who went ahead and fell for you  
I'm out of vogue, I'm out of touch  
I fell too fast, I feel too much  
I thought that you might have some advice to give  
On how to be…insensitive

She felt herself choking up on the bridge, remembering how one day, they were a blissfully happy couple, and two days later, Rachel had seemingly forgotten all about her. Even if they never actually spoke again, she needed the girl to know where she was at, what the diva had done to her. That maybe being colder to her at the end of the summer would have been nicer. Maybe doing anything she was singing about would have been nicer than how it had gone down. She hoped Rachel understood.

 _Oh I really should have known by the time you drove me home_  
By the vagueness in your eyes, your casual goodbyes  
By the chill in your embrace, the expression on your face that told me  
Maybe you might have some advice to give  
On how to be… insensitive

_Insensitive…_

Santana sat at the piano bench while some of the gleeks clapped for her performance; it was justifiably an awkward tone that she'd set, and the applause matched it appropriately. Pretty much no one had known about her and Rachel's relationship. In hindsight, the girl's reluctance to announce it through the summer months was telling. Rachel had wanted to keep it personal and private; just her, Santana and the Berry fathers in on it, in hopes of keeping them safe from unnecessary gossip and hostility from the group. She'd believed her then. It had been a performance for the ages.

She rose after a few moments and found herself walking over to Rachel, eventually standing about a foot in front of her, giving the girl an appraising look to see if she saw anything there. Rachel was always such a good actress, though. Even after three months, it had been impossible to tell when she was being sincere, but at that moment she didn't see guilt or regret. Not a shred of it. Just indifference.

Finn was staring at her awkwardly; his lips were moving, but she wasn't there to listen to him speak, so she let the thoughts in her head drown him out. Santana leaned forward, her head by Rachel's ear so the diva could catch every syllable.

"Tú eras mi ángel." She whispered, with a calmness that surprised even her. Still living in the wake of what she'd done, Santana leaned back and returned to her seat in the risers, not sparing Rachel another glance, not wanting to know that what she said had no effect on the other girl. She knew Rachel would just sit there with her show smile on, or with her concerned expression on, or perhaps her slightly befuddled one. All she'd wanted was honesty when she'd gone into glee, but Rachel had proven that she was just insensitive enough to deny her that simple luxury. She supposed it was a good foot to start off on for Insensitivity 101, after all. And she commended the girl for simply moving on to another performance, because hey, the show must go on. The world was her stage, and she didn't seem to care who else was privy to that knowledge.

Santana closed her eyes, bowed her head, and waited for the hour long session to end. After that, she just didn't know anymore. She didn't have much of anything left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A little OOC for Rachel here for sure, but the thought of Rachel acting her way through High School, making decisions on what opportunities she could take to advance her acting experiences...it struck a chord with me. So I wrote it, from Santana's POV, and an old Jan Arden song came to mind that fit the bill, considering I was looking for Santana to sing in glee, to express herself as Rachel would have possibly wanted her to.
> 
> Though admittedly, I didn't have the heart to really delve into all the fluffy details of their summer, just to crush the memory of them. Didn't have it in me that day. Writing Rachel as so unrepentant was difficult enough, and I could totally understand if anyone thought I was a jerk for writing her that way :P If it makes anyone feel any better, i churned out my Operation: V-Day ficlet almost right after this because I needed a fluff infusion, haha.
> 
> Also, sorry if my brief forays into Spanish are totally off. I've really let it slip since high school, and duolingo only helps so much


	4. Rumour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hours after they lost out at nationals, and after she blew up in a rage and tried to attack Finn, Santana returns to her hotel room. Only, Rachel is in her bed, crying, for some inexplicable reason. (One-shot, Rachel/Santana friendship)

It had taken three hours for Santana to cool down after learning they'd missed the showcase because of Finnept's lumbering, awkward kiss with Rachel. She'd stormed off through New York, trying to forget the whole performance, trying to forget the past few days.

Santana knew she wasn't the easiest person to get along with; she was a self-proclaimed bitch, but she DID try and be a good friend. She hated seeing Britt discouraged after her song was unceremoniously ditched by glee. More than that, she hated seeing Quinn in so much pain, so vulnerable. She almost wished she let her ice-queen best friend sabotage the competition, but Santana took some comfort in the fact that Quinn really did seem to like the haircut, even if she'd absolutely turned down any sort of extra comfort from Santana. Not that she'd ever seriously offered, but it hurt that Quinn basically told her she'd never feel that way about her.

She'd had a tiny crush on Quinn for years, and while her desire and commitment to it faded over time, it didn't change the fact that the blonde was something of an impossible dream for Santana. She'd moved on to Britt, who dumped her for Wheels, which only made it sting worse that all the girls she liked were guy-exclusive. It just didn't seem fair that so many people were coupled up in glee, and she was alone with no hope in sight.

Because sure, she was a bitch, but it didn't mean she didn't feel. It didn't mean she didn't want a slice of what everyone else could get so easily; the fact that she couldn't was a big reason why she was such a bitch anyway. She'd been sweet to Britt. The girl liked that side of her that she rarely was able to show. It just sucked that there was still another year until she graduated, meaning another year of being alone. Quinn's words haunted her, because they'd been what she'd felt too. She just wanted someone to love her. She'd even take a guy at that point, but she really wanted some lady love. Not just sweet lady kisses, but a real connection. She missed that warm sensation in her chest when she'd watch Britt skip down the hall toward her. Even if they might not have been deep in love, she'd felt enough love for the blonde to put herself out there. After Quinn and Britt, Santana was positive that she just wouldn't go for blondes ever again. It just didn't seem like the third time would be a charm.

She knew the glee kids were likely off making the most of their last night in New York, it only being eight thirty. When she entered the room, dark from the lack of active lighting, she figured she was right on the mark until muffled sobs reached her ears. Her eyes scanned the room as she walked across the room to one of the lamps, her gaze catching on a small lump under the sheets of the farthest bed.

As soon as she flicked the light switch on, she saw Rachel's head pop up from under the covers briefly, the girl's puffy bloodshot eyes seeking hers with about as desperate an expression as Santana had ever seen on someone.

"Oh my Barbra, Santana!" Berry cried out, the diva positively butchering the pronunciation of her name as sobs tore through her mid-sentence. Santana stood stock still, fingers still lingering on the switch as Berry barreled into her, capturing her in a surprisingly tight hug, the girl sobbing into the front of her dress; thankfully, it wasn't an expensive one, and would be easy enough to replace and guilt the diva into paying for.

"Jeez, short stack, what the hell?" Santana scoffed, trying to wrestle Rachel off of her, to no avail.

"You left." Rachel cried into her shoulder, the diva's body shaking against her. Sighing, Santana gave the girl a light hug in hopes that it would appease Rachel, but the diva just burrowed impossibly closer against her. She couldn't help but feel it was kind of like the twilight zone, because Berry had never, EVER been that affectionate with her. It was weird and suspicious.

Santana let out a confused chuckle, not understanding at all why Rachel was so upset. It all seemed a bit too dramatic. "I had to cool off, or Snix would have ended up killing you or Finn, but I'm good now. Whatever." She stated calmly, hoping the diva would take the hint that she's fine.

Rachel moved back slightly, just enough to look up into her eyes. "I heard what you said earlier…" Rachel whispered, her voice cracking. Santana had no idea what the girl was talking about, so she just raised a questioning eyebrow. "What…what you said to Quinn."

Santana's body went stiff at the mention of that conversation; she was only ever candid in the company of her blondes, and that Berry had listened in on them was kind of scary and kind of infuriating. She wasn't sure whether to push the girl away or just spin out of the girl's grasp and out the door; Rachel seemed to see the panic set in, and clutched tightly to her. "Santana please don't leave, please!"

Santana was surprised to hear the level of panic in Berry's voice exceeding what was going on in her head, and that was enough to make her curious and settle down a bit, even if she was a little wary. "What the fuck are you going on about midge?" Santana whispered, backing the both of them up toward the bed, Rachel's legs hitting first as the brunette awkwardly stumbled off of her and onto the mattress. Rachel looked up at her with an expression that was so pleading, that she wasn't sure she could move.

"I was scared…after…after what happened between you and her, and how depressed you've been..." Rachel started, falling into sobs for a moment before she hastily worked to compose herself. "I lost you your chance…I'm so sorry, I just want you to…to…"

"To feel good about myself?" she asked the brunette quietly, a mix of undecipherable emotions swirling within her. She was freaked out that Berry was freaking out, and was freaked out that she'd repeated the words from that conversation again, willingly. Hell, without even thinking.

Rachel nodded tearfully, lifting her hand and offering to Santana. She wasn't sure what to do, so she ignored it for the moment, sitting down on the edge of the bed, facing away from Rachel. It was so hard to just think, it had been sprung on her so suddenly.

"Why aren't you out with Finn?" she asked softly, too confused about her current situation to be angry or frustrated or anything. She was just straight up confused, and that was starting to lock her up.

"He didn't let me go when I told him to. He…he kissed me, and you ran away." Rachel stammered out between sobs. "I was so worried."

She pondered Rachel's choice of words, not understanding how the diva could break the day's events into something as simple as that. Hell, it wasn't even accurate. After Finn kissed Rachel, she legitimately tried to murder him, and had mentally gone over a plan involving the oaf, the Hudson River, and a storage crate. "I don't understand." Santana mused out loud, shaking her head. Berry just wasn't making any sense. "Everyone knows I storm off when I'm pissed…I have rage issues, and I might break some things, or some people, but whatever."

"So…you…you weren't going to…" Rachel squeaked out, sounding absolutely tiny, before breaking out into fresh sobs. Santana let out a sigh, entirely in disbelief that she was halfheartedly consoling Berry over her own disappearance. It didn't make any sense!

"I wasn't going to what?" she asked, her mind scouring the past for any possible reason for anyone to be upset about her not coming back. Because, seriously, most people in glee hated her. It wasn't her being dramatic or defensive, it was true. She was a bitch to everyone, and most couldn't differentiate her 'mean-bitchiness' from her 'playful-friendship-bitchiness', so generally, people hated her. It wasn't like she could just turn off her wit or brutal honesty, or whatever. She'd tried wrapping in up in compliments, to try and make them backhanded compliments, but no one ever understood the efforts she made. They just kind of decided to hate her, so fuck them, right? Why would anyone worry about her just running off somewhere? "Wait…did Britt tell you I was moving to TriBeCa or a lesbian colony? Because I totally wasn't being…"

"No! I…no!" Rachel blurted out, shaking her head like some hyper-active cartoon character. "Kurt said…Kurt…"

Santana rolled her eyes at the fact that Rachel couldn't seem to string three words together for the first time in her life, just when she was curious enough to be willing to listen to Berry speak. "What did Lady Face say?"

Rachel's lower jaw was quivering. Like, honestly, it was jutting out and quivering, and her lower lip was in this ridiculous pout, and Santana honestly couldn't understand what was going on, because she kind of just wanted to keep the diva from being that sad. It wasn't like she was into her or anything; she just didn't want the girl to be such an emotional mess or whatever. Not a heck of a lot of people in the world would have been worried if she went missing, and Berry was for some inexplicable reason, so that kind of counted for something. She just wasn't sure what, at least not yet.

"Kurt…Kurt said he saw you under the bleachers two weeks ago." Rachel stated with a level of despair that Santana wasn't sure could be matched by much else, aside from how she'd actually felt that day under those concrete steps. It had arguably been the worst forty-eight hour stretch of her life, and she felt fortunate enough to think back to it and not be reduced to a blubbering mess. Her eyes welled with tears as the memory stormed into her unprepared mind, and if there were cameras or spies nearby, a tear track or two might have been visible, but there wasn't any proof. It was Berry's word against her own.

"So what?" she choked out, her voice already surprisingly strained, but the wounds were all still incredibly fresh. She'd done nothing to heal them over that two week span. Santana had taken a page from the Fabrays and tried to ignore it, pretend it didn't happen. In truth, it was all that was happening in her life.

It had all started with Brittany offhandedly telling Santana that she'd never loved her 'like that'. As if it had been a fact about ducks, or the answer to one of Mr. Schuester's inane questions. She'd loved Brittany. She'd felt more for the blonde than anyone else in her short, admittedly sort-of-pathetic existence, and the girl hadn't felt anything of the sort in return. That was reserved for Wheels. Of course. So she'd excused herself, cried like a bitch, went home early from school, and ultimately did what she always did when she was heart-broken. Santana self-destructed, calling Puck for a hook-up, because while sex always reminded her of Britt, it was the only time she every really felt wanted. And even if it sucked, and it was regrettable and emotionless, and she felt emptier and more broken in the aftermath, she at least meant something for a few seconds.

And of course, for the first time in their history of hook-ups, Puck got caught on the way out and Santana had to find out that the mohawked idiot had been screwing her mom too, which was just fucking insanely gross, and would have had her vomiting if she hadn't been so angry. And because she was so angry, yelling at Puck and her mother, her father had heard her. Which led to him interrogating her mom, and the both of them blowing up on each other as Puck made a hasty escape. Which led to them both deciding not very amicably on a divorce. Oh, and her father had also made the decision that since she and her mother were such sluts, that they deserved each other, and he wanted nothing to do with either of them. Which was the icing on the cake. Her father, who had taught her how to ride a bike, who had taught her how to dance, who always cheered her up with the absolute worst puns in existence, and who could slip them into sentences and conversations effortlessly, didn't want her anymore. Her father, who was there for her through seemingly every struggle in her life, not only didn't want her, but couldn't even bear to look at her, to call her his daughter. In short, she'd always been her daddy's girl, and her daddy didn't love her anymore. And that fucking hurt worse than anything she'd ever felt in her life. And then, the next day, which she'd mostly spent in a numb haze, she was kicked back down to the bottom of the pyramid again for not sounding interested enough in what Quinn had been talking about at lunch. She still wasn't sure what it was, but it had earned her the ice-queen's contempt, and Santana had to face the facts that she'd only ever be friends with Quinn half the time. The other half, the blonde hated her, and yet again, she couldn't ever have someone feel the same way about herself as she did others. Everyone she considered a friend didn't see her as one, and everyone she loved didn't love her in return. Even her mother was cold toward her for screwing her marriage up.

So yeah, that day fucking sucked. And maybe she needed to take a few minutes to just let go and cry or whatever, and maybe she said some things in haste; honestly, she couldn't remember much of that day, but apparently Lady Face had seen her.

"He said that he heard you…that you…" the diva started before taking a much-needed breather; the shift in expression on Berry's face as the girl tried to compose herself and restrain her emotions would have been hilarious if she wasn't so morbidly curious. "We're not better off without you, Santana."

She looked into the diva's huge, glimmering brown eyes and saw the sincere concern, and couldn't help but feel ashamed. Ashamed that she'd ever hated on the girl for her emotions and for her honesty, because it was breathtaking how the girl just wore her heart out on her sleeve like that. That Rachel had the gall to bring up something as serious as that with a girl who never vocalized her emotions. A girl that most were terrified of, and Berry did it without any back-up to protect her. It was kind of stunning, Santana had to admit.

It took a few seconds for her to absorb the girl's words, to really hear them and understand them. She may have been a bitch, but she was a perceptive bitch. I usually meant her insults would hit people harder or whatever, but she could hear what Rachel wasn't saying as clearly as what she had said. "Kurt listened in on me…and he thought I was going to kill myself." Santana stated slowly, not needing any verbal confirmation from Rachel, whose head ducked as another sob escaped her. "Well, he did a bang up job of talking me out of it, didn't he?"

"He didn't know what to say." Rachel said softly, her voice barely reaching Santana's ears. The words were baffling, and she heard the disappointment in Rachel's tone.

"He only told you this today when I left." Santana's words were met with a stiff nod, Berry's head still lowered, her gaze still averted. She wasn't having any of that. "Berry, look at me."

Rachel didn't, keeping her head down, her hair masking her face; the faint hint of her eyes showed that they were looking in the opposite direction. It wasn't as if Santana needed Rachel to tell her how she felt; the diva's emotions were coming off of her in waves so clear that it was kind of stunning. She'd been able to read Rachel's body language in the past, but the girl was just emanating guilt, worry, fear, and a surprising hint of anger. "Berry, it was a rumour. Kurt's a gossip hound."

"Did you ever consider it?" Rachel asked, her voice harder than before, reminding Santana of their own altercations in glee over the years.

It wasn't a difficult question, and before she even thought of her answer, the word slipped out of her mouth. "Yes." Three letters, one vowel, one syllable. One confirmation that she'd considered ending the one and only life she'd ever had, and ever would have as far as she knew. Did that make her a bad person? A selfish person? Probably. "But I'm still here, so whatever."

"No, it's not 'whatever', Santana!" Rachel cried out, finally facing her, the diva's eyes wide with a tearful rage. "When Kurt told us that you'd been struggling like that for weeks, I wanted to…I HATED him! I yelled at him, I tried to get everyone to go out and look for you, I tried to…they just...I thought we were all fine!" the diva yelled out, her words confirming what she'd known for months. It wasn't a shock that no one really cared, except for Rachel, apparently; it was just hard to hear that she'd been right.

"The glee family was fine, Rachel." She stated dispassionately with a shrug as she turned away, trying to play off the hurt that was bubbling inside of her, knowing that two families had refused her. "You know better than anyone that family's more than blood. They're not you…they didn't think of me like that, and I knew that the whole time."

She felt Rachel's hand snake into hers as the diva shifted closer to her. "He…two weeks. Anything could have happened."

"And if you'd known, I would have denied it. I didn't want your help." Santana replied quickly, deciding to give the girl some feedback, offering a light squeeze of her hand. It was true. It didn't take her long to wrap her head around Rachel wanting her to be there, wanting her around. The girl was cheerful and sweet and friendly; Santana had just assumed that the girl was such a good actress, that she didn't really care that much about everyone. Now she knew that she was wrong.

"Then why are you talking with me right now?" Rachel asked, using her other hand to turn Santana's head to face her.

Santana shook her head; she knew that come hell or high water, Finn wouldn't have passed up on his pursuit of Rachel, not after he'd kissed her. "Why isn't Finn here?" she asked simply, gauging the diva for a response. After a few seconds of what Santana could chalk up as intense staring, she continued. "That's your answer, Berry."

"Because Finn makes you uncomfortable?" Rachel asked, warily, clearly not on Santana's wavelength. She had to remember that for as smart and emotionally capable as the diva was, she wasn't the most creative thinker. The girl had said, after all, that the gold star stickers she often placed beside her signature were metaphors for her being a star. Seriously, the girl had her moments, but she wasn't like Santana; the diva dealt with blunt aggression and insults about surface-level shit. Whereas she'd grown up with lots of kind, sweet words with venomous, soul-destroying undertones. She'd had to read into people's words her whole life, where Berry hadn't been exposed to that sort of thing long enough to comprehend it.

"Because he doesn't care, and neither does anyone else. Because back then, I didn't think you cared either, but you being alone here right now…when you could be out on the town seeing a play, or eating dinner with Finessa…it shows you kinda care." Santana rambled slowly, not really sure how to say what she wanted to, fully knowing it was coming out with an incredible lack of grace.

Rachel just squeezed her hand, and they sat in silence, both very aware of the situation. Santana couldn't help but feel kind of incredible that Rachel had yelled at everyone and ditched them in favour of waiting for her to come back. The girl couldn't go out on the town because she'd been too worried and felt the need to be there if or when Santana returned. It was heartwarming. It may have made her, for a few moments, a big softie. Whatever. "If I asked you to be my friend, would you?" she asked quietly, figuring that if there was any chance of having something remotely okay in her life, that was the time to ask.

The gentle weight of Rachel leaning against her was probably a good enough answer, but she was thankful for the words. "I'd love to be your friend, Santana."

And for once, for the first time in weeks, she was on an even plane with someone else. No longer was she always giving more than she got, or not giving enough. It was comforting, and she couldn't really hate that Kurt spread that rumour, true or not, because it had gained her a friend. One that she knew she could trust, because Rachel Berry was nothing if not committed. So she leaned back into Rachel and wrapped an arm around the girl's waist, pulling her lazily into her for a hug, because she still had to keep up SOME appearances. She didn't want to seem that desperate, even if she was pretty sure Rachel felt it in her as they both held each other. It was good to have a friend again, and when the rumour mill started up again when they got back to McKinley, she'd be sure to set the record straight when it came to Rachel. Anything else outside of that didn't really matter enough to correct.


	5. Infatuation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel has literally fallen over herself to try and attract Santana’s attention. It hasn’t been going well. After yet another mishap while preparing for nationals in Miami, she follows Santana back to their hotel room to apologize, only to find herself with an opportunity to truly express herself.
> 
> College AU

"What the FUCK, Yentl!?"

Rachel winced at the cheerleader's voice, quickly taking a few steps away from the infuriated girl that she'd bumped into for nearly the fourth time that day. It wasn't as if she was naturally clumsy, she just got distracted sometimes.

"Santana, it was an accident, so let's just calm down and take it from…" Professor Schuester started, but Santana was already storming off, out of the practice space they'd reserved and toward the elevators leading up to their dorms.

Rachel blushed from shame as she felt all eyes on her; it was made even worse with the knowledge that it hadn't been a one-off occurrence. Ever since the party in their dorm's basement, she'd had something of a problem, and while the gleeks were pretty much oblivious, they had been getting on her case for her recent clumsiness. They'd almost lost regionals in Chicago because she'd fumbled up so many times practicing the choreography for 'Loser Like Me', and it had been an absolute miracle that they'd pulled it off on the main show.

She really hadn't meant to be such a klutz, she just couldn't help herself. Ever since her first party in New York, Rachel had developed something of an infatuation. Even in her oddly flattering cropped faux-fur vest and blue dress, Rachel could hardly take her eyes off the girl. Rachel's heart had beaten faster when the cheerleader had gotten possessive during spin the bottle, and when Santana had given Sam a lap dance while she and Blaine sang on stage, she thought her heart was going to explode out of her chest. Ever since, she'd tried to get closer to the girl, but always managed to mess every attempt up. She just didn't have an off switch, and it was costing them valuable practice time.

Rachel ignored all the protests from the group members, waving them off as she went to follow Santana. "I need to apologize." Was all she could get out, before she scurried out of the room. Santana had clearly caught one of the elevators up, and Rachel had to wait a minute or two to grab another. And the passengers on hers seemed to need to stop on every floor, delaying her ascent to the sixth floor where their rooms were located.

Finally, after about ten minutes of torture, she arrived at Santana's room; they'd taken four rooms and bunked everyone in, and she'd been fortunate enough to have been selected to share one with Santana, which had unintentionally caused a great deal of incidents and a lot of anger. Rachel hadn't wanted to upset the cheerleader, she just wanted the girl to notice her. It just ended up that she forced Santana to notice her by bumping into her, stepping on her feet, tripping her, falling onto her, among many other unfortunate accidents. Of course, she'd also tried other ways, like wearing shorter skirts, tighter tops, more makeup, less argyle; she'd even sang and danced what she deemed to be a sexy number in glee rehearsals, but the cheerleader had been too focused on her own nails throughout it all. Rachel would have been infuriated had she not accidentally made the cheerleader's life in their glee club a living hell.

So she crept into the room, the sound of loud expletive-laced dialogue streaming from the bathroom, Santana's clothes clearly unceremoniously tossed onto the floor. Rachel wasn't sure why Santana had so desperately needed a shower, but upon reflection, it seemed fairly clear given her past interactions with the girl. _She must be washing my residue off of her…she always makes fun of me and calls me short and ugly and gross…I must have disgusted her so much that she felt the need to be clean…_

Rachel frowned and slumped down at the end of the sole bed in the room, feeling masochistic as she listened to the angry girl in the other room.

"Like fucking seriously, EVERY TIME! She has to fucking throw herself onto me like some monkey with attachment issues or shit! I don't…augh!" she heard the girl yell, followed by the sound of running water, Santana clearly getting started on her routine. "She thinks she can just do that and get away with it?!"

Rachel gulped and shrunk in on herself as she sat at the edge of the bed; she'd long expected Santana to really physically lash out at her, but all she'd gotten thus far were insults, threats and glares. The exact opposite of what she'd been aiming for in her efforts.

"She thinks she can fucking rub up against me like I'm some damn stripper pole? She thinks she can trip me just to get a fucking look at my ass?! Fucking bitch!" Santana raged, and Rachel couldn't help but blush. She'd never thought of it that way, even when taking the opportunity to sneak a peek, though she also had thought her infatuation was secret. It appeared that that wasn't the case. "She thinks she can just…just get all up on me like she did and not even fucking say anything?! Play that innocent naïve virgin shit like she does with everyone?! Her skirts are fucking CRIMINAL! Fuck, her LEGS are criminal, and she's always flashing me the fucking goods, and I'M the person who needs to calm the fuck down?!"

Rachel found herself standing, moving toward the door slowly as she listened, confused about the girl's rant. Apparently, her apologies hadn't counted as saying something to Santana; apparently, she'd been somewhat improper with her posture in rehearsals, and Santana had noticed. That was unintentional, but while it seemed to have helped enrage Santana, she could clearly hear the girl was yelling from frustration now, not just simply anger. And that intrigued Rachel.

"SHE needs to get HER shit together! It's been fucking MONTHS! Months of her running into me and dry humping me in public and I can't even catch a fucking break because she's always fucking THERE! It's bad enough having to watch B and Wheels macking in rehearsals and around our dorms, having to deal with the dwarf giving Finnept those fucking stupid looks is just fucking bullshit! What the fuck is she even DOING?!" Santana ranted ferociously as Rachel slipped into the steamy bathroom, not really sure what she was doing, but knowing instinctively that she needed to be in there. "And it HAD to be the fucking hobbit! It just fucking had to be her, not even Tina, who kind of pulls off the sexy goth look or whatever! I would have given my left ovary for Quinn or Britt, but Berry?! Overbearing, selfish, loud-mouthed fucking Berry with her fucking skyscraper legs? It's not fair!" the cheerleader was clearly furious, following her words with an audible slam of something on a wall.

Santana slipped into Spanish with her ranting, and Rachel couldn't understand it at that pace, so she just used that brief moment to get up the courage to act. She hadn't been able to gather much from the girl's rants, but what had stuck out was that Santana seemed to like her legs, and didn't like her staring at Finn; sure, there were other things, but she wanted to focus on those things. They were positive. So she quietly stripped off her clothes, grabbed her shampoo, conditioner and body wash, and walked over to the shower. Santana still hadn't noticed her, it seemed, so she took a deep breath and pulled the shower curtain back a little. That didn't seem to rouse the girl's attention from her ranting, Santana's hands waving angrily in the air as the girl held a shower pouf in one of her hands. Rachel quietly placed her shampoo and conditioner on the ledge at the back of the shower. She was pretty sure she was walking into incredibly dangerous territory, the sort that could very likely get her killed, but her body was on autopilot, and she honestly couldn't help herself; the thought of Santana maybe being a little jealous was kind of arousing.

"Santana?" she asked quietly, her voice surprisingly calm as she gently took hold of the loofah; the shower pouf quickly came into Rachel's control as Santana spun around, her hands flailing for a moment to grip onto anything she could as she tried to keep her footing. The cheerleader's eyes were wide with shock, her expression still holding the previous fury and frustration, though as the seconds passed, confusion seemed to settle in as well.

Rachel gulped, trying to stay calm, and squeezed out some of her body wash onto the pouf; the familiar cookie-dough scent had been a favourite since her fathers had bought her some for Hanukkah, and the thought of sharing it with Santana was more than a little alluring. "Let me help, before the water gets cold." She spoke simply, approaching Santana, who was effectively, standing in the way of the jets of water.

Rachel took in the other girl's naked form for a moment, pleased that Santana wasn't violently throwing her out of the shower or tearing her down verbally. Santana had always been beautiful, but as she approached, she felt that she was in the presence of a goddess, one worthy of even the smallest bit of worship. So she gently worked the loofah against Santana's collarbone, pleasantly surprised at the hitch in the other girl's breathing at the contact.

Rachel slowly, methodically worked her way over Santana's toned arms before returning and spreading her body wash across Santana's slightly heaving chest. The girl gasped, though it sounded almost stifled; Rachel was too shy to look into the cheerleader's eyes quite yet, instead deciding to take her time in scrubbing the girl clean of everything that wasn't Rachel's. Once she finished the girl's front torso, having taken her time on the girl's admirable set of rippling abs, she stepped closer, gently prodding for Santana to spin around.

The girl didn't budge, so Rachel dared a glance up at Santana's eyes, which were entirely devoid of anger, too filled with confusion and the growing embers of lust to keep hold of that fury. After Santana refused to budge a second time, Rachel just stepped up against Santana, her body pressing lightly against the cheerleader's as her hands reached behind the girl's back and scrubbed away at that half of the torso. Her eyes didn't leave Santana's during the exchange, and Santana's didn't leave hers; she wasn't sure what to make of it, but Santana was allowing her to continue, so she took it as a good sign.

Eventually her hands and pouf ventured lower, and she used one hand to massage the girl's ass, something she'd dreamed of doing for months, while the other scrubbed the remaining cheek. Santana leaned into her at the touch, the girl's hands resting on Rachel's shoulders as she continued her work. The cheerleader's hands didn't remain there long as Rachel crouched onto the balls of her feet so she could work up and down Santana's legs. She knew that Santana ranted about her legs, but she didn't think the cheerleader had any room to complain. Rachel had to see those long, tan legs every day they held rehearsals as well, and there was never any reprieve, whereas she'd occasionally wear tights or knee socks. It was only when she was gently working on Santana's upper thighs, caressing the backs of her legs with her other hand, that she felt Santana grab her by the arm and pull her up harshly. Almost immediately, the taller girl had her pressed up against the wall, their faces millimeters apart.

"What are you doing?" Santana asked, her voice low and husky, her breathing slightly labored. The sight and sound had Rachel smiling, because it was clear that Santana was reacting to her ministrations.

Now, Rachel could have merely said she was helping her, which would be vague enough to pass off and let Santana think what she wanted. That seemed unfair, though, as Santana seemed to be frustrated with not knowing why Rachel was reacting around her like she had. She also considered saying she was merely cleaning her, which was an undeniable truth. It would play up the naïve virgin card that Santana complained about, and could maybe get the cheerleader to spill more of her thoughts, though it was also likely to incite more anger. Instead, she went with the honest answer, one that had come to her five minutes earlier as she was washing the girl's stomach. She'd wanted to possess Santana in some way, and the mere act of doing that had gotten her very hot and bothered, her hands shaking slightly as she'd continued. Rachel was pretty sure Santana noticed eventually, which was why she was up against the wall.

"I'm making you smell like me." Rachel said softly, her gaze challenging Santana to stop her; because she would stop, if asked, but she didn't want Santana to give that order. She wanted to believe she heard the other girl moan a little bit, because she knew Santana had made a sound, but it wasn't entirely discernible.

"Why?" Santana asked, her body pressing against hers tantalizingly, Rachel wrapping her arms reflexively around Santana's waist. It was a simple question, but there were so many answers Rachel wanted to give.

"I was curious." Rachel noted, her voice barely above a whisper as she cocked her head to the side; Santana's gaze dropped to her lips for a brief second before the rest of the girl's body pressed hard against her. Rachel couldn't help but exhale from the pressure, the warm tile thankfully relatively frictionless, or her back would have been quite sore.

"About?" Santana breathed out, the cheerleader grabbing Rachel's hands and pressing them high above her head against the wall. Rachel was absolutely fine with giving Santana a little control in their situation. The cheerleader had been very accommodating thus far.

"If you'd let me…if I'd feel like I thought I would." She answered simply, feeling herself blush fiercely at the admission and the transparency of her attraction to the girl.

Santana was quiet for a few moments, moving her head to the side and resting her forehead on the wall to the left of Rachel's head. "You made me smell like cookies." The girl noted with a hint of amusement, which had Rachel's heart soaring with hope.

"You're mouth-watering, you deserved something fitting." She blurted out, and Santana's grip on her wrists tightened for a moment before the girl let go entirely, Santana stepping back from the wall, her hands running through her wet locks. Rachel didn't want to let her stew on that, so she followed the girl, wrapping her arms around Santana's waist and pressing her lips to the girl's shoulder blades. Santana shuddered under her touch, and that just made Rachel more confident, one hand trailing down to a thigh while the other massaged Santana's abs. "I'm sorry for being a nuisance lately…you're very distracting."

"Dios mio…" Santana breathed out, her hand gripping the shower head for stability as Rachel continued her ministrations, her one hand starting to massage the taller girl's inner thigh. "Berry…what are you doing?"

Rachel swallowed at the question; she knew she was already in deep, so she figured it wouldn't hurt to go all in. "I may be inexperienced, Santana, but it doesn't mean I can't help you find some relief." She spoke softly into Santana's ear, smiling at the girl's shudder. "You seemed fond of my legs, so if you want, I could offer a thigh, or…or I could prove to you that you were always wrong about my hands…" she breathed out, nipping at the other girl's neck, entirely too caught up in the moment to really care that Santana hadn't reciprocated in any way at all.

"Yentl, I…I think you've done enough." Santana choked out, abruptly shutting off the shower with one of her feet, the former cheerleader promptly exiting the shower, leaving Rachel standing there in a confused daze. Fortunately for the brunette, it cleared quickly, and she was soon standing on the bathmat, grabbing a towel to dry herself off with, watching Santana with curious eyes as the other girl frantically dried herself off and stumbled into the other room in her underwear.

Rachel took her time, deciding to do an abbreviated version of her nightly routine before leaving the bathroom; she wanted the other girl to have time to consider her proposal, after all. And while it was still very early in the evening, she hoped that she'd find something interesting to do in their hotel room for the remaining hours of the night.

When she was finished, she covered herself in a fresh towel and stepped out into the room where Santana Lopez was perched on the end of the bed, her head in her hands as her wild, damp hair obscured the girl's face from the diva.

"You should hate me, you know." Santana spoke as Rachel neared her, the diva choosing to remain silent as she knelt before the taller girl. "Why are you screwing with me?"

Rachel winced at the hint of remorse in the girl's voice, hidden behind the hostility and suspicion, of course. She knew Santana didn't like it when she rambled, so she'd have to be succinct.

"It would have been easier to hate you, I suppose. At first, I was torn between my anger toward you and how attracted I was to you." Rachel admitted, prompting Santana to raise her head and meet her gaze, her expression unreadable for once. "I suppose initially there was a certain allure to the notion of 'hate-fucking' you, but…after I started paying attention to you more, and accidentally annoying you, I came to terms with that anger. I forgive you."

"You shouldn't." Santana bit back immediately, her eyes showing a fraction of the anger Rachel had stepped in on earlier. She understood that Santana got angry when she was confused or felt vulnerable. She'd always appreciated the challenge, even if her appreciation for the girl eventually eclipsed it.

"It's the difference between you and me. You hold grudges and are defensive. I forgive and keep an open heart." Rachel stated confidently as she ran her fingertips up and down the accessible length of Santana's legs. "I'm sorry for frustrating you so much, even if at times I have been trying to get your attention. I only ever wanted you to notice me, but I didn't think about how it'd affect you."

Santana was quiet for a few moments as she dropped her gaze; however, her apparent permission to allow Rachel to continue caressing her was a nice boost to Rachel's hopes for the night. "How much did you hear?" Santana asked quietly, her voice not entirely void of the steely tone she usually used, just at a more hushed level. It was progress. One step at a time.

"From where you called me a monkey with attachment issues." Rachel noted with a smirk as she shuffled between the girl's legs, her forehead resting against the top of Santana's lowered one. "I don't want Finn. I haven't. I appease him with the same hollow smile to get him to stop staring at me and to focus in rehearsals, but he's not the one that makes my heart beat out of my chest. He's not the one I look for wherever I am at school, or around the city. He's not the one I misguidedly tried to claim this evening in the shower."

Santana chuckled at the last sentence, which was promising, as Rachel had thought her inappropriate behavior had caused the girl to stop showering and evacuate the premises. "I smell fucking delicious."

"You are." Rachel shot back immediately, earning a nervous laugh from Santana, who pushed herself backward and fully onto the bed, away from her.

"Pretty confident for someone who's never had a taste." Santana said, and while someone who wasn't well acquainted with the taller girl's quirks would have called her tone cocky, it was clear to Rachel that Santana was on the defensive, clearly nervous by the twitch of her eyebrow and the slight hitch in her voice.

Rachel moved to her feet and combed loose damp strands of hair from her face so she could better see the other girl on the bed. "Months of dreaming and thinking about you have led me to some hopeful hypotheses…but you're right." Rachel admitted as she agonizingly slowly made her way to the side of the bed, her body warming at the thought that a foot away, Santana was on a bed, in her underwear, and she was standing beside her wearing nothing but a towel. "Santana, what do you want from me?"

"What?" the girl asked, looking up with shock and disbelief, clearly not having expected that question to fall from Rachel's lips.

"I'll leave if you truly want me to. I'll sit on the floor in the corner of the room and sleep there tonight if you want that. I'll try to ignore you as much as I can, if you prefer, though I can't promise anything on that end." Rachel stated firmly, before taking a deep steadying breath and continuing. "If you want some relief with as few strings attached as possible…I could do that for you as well."

Santana looked entirely conflicted for a few moments, even as she spoke her decree. "I want you to leave." The girl said, lacking conviction in every syllable.

Rachel sighed and decided to follow the girl's order, even if she wasn't about to give up on the fight. Nonchalantly, she shrugged off her towel, leaving herself entirely nude, before slowly sauntering over to her luggage. She bent at the hip as she opened it, slowly looking through her garments for a change of clothing. She fished out a pair of tights first, and then her underwear and bra, followed by one of her skirts, before finally pulling out a slate grey sweater with a deep v-neck. Carefully, she took the folded pile of clothes to the side of the bed that Santana wasn't seated on, and started changing. She'd pulled her boyshorts up and was reaching for her bra when two strong hands pulled her backward onto the bed by her waist and shoulders.

Almost immediately, Rachel rolled in the other girl's grasp, pulling Santana down by the neck just enough to throw the girl's balance off. And just like that, Rachel went from changing into her clothes to straddling Santana Lopez, and she'd never felt so exhilarated. Santana, for her part, had never looked so stunned, which the diva felt was a good look on her, but not as good as other expressions, so she quickly lunged down and crashed their lips together. Santana arched up into her surprisingly eagerly as Rachel worked through the euphoria of finally touching the girl she'd desired for months, very much allowing Santana's tongue entrance when the other girl slid it across her lower lip.

She felt Santana's hands gripping and clawing at her back, and perhaps it was a bit painful, but it was a minor price to pay for being able to kiss the girl beneath her. When she willed herself to migrate south, trailing hot kisses down the expanse of Santana's neck, allowing herself the odd nip or love-bite, the other girl apparently felt it opportune to switch positions. Which simply would not do.

Rachel immediately clamped down on Santana's wrists and used her body's weight to hold them against the bed, their faces millimeters apart. "Berry, just fucking kiss me and get me off, or I swear…" Santana grit out until Rachel's lips silenced her with a quick, passionate kiss, and a little nip to the girl's lower lip that dragged a moan from Santana's throat. It may have been the best sound she'd ever heard, and immediately, she felt ablaze.

"I will, but we have time. I want to explore you. I want to make you feel good." She spoke, each sentence punctuated by a quick kiss. Rachel needed Santana to understand, needed her to know what she wanted to do. "I want to show you how special you are." She added as she tentatively let go of one wrist and grazed it down the girl's arm; her hand found a temporary home cupping Santana's surprisingly soft breast considering her supposed augmentation, her thumb giving a playful flick against the girl's hardened nipple. "I won't tease, I promise."

"Fuck, Berry!" Rachel heard the girl beneath her grind out with closed eyes, arching into her touch as she kneaded Santana's breast again. "Whatever, just get on with it."

Rachel smiled and got back to work, returning her lips to Santana's glorious tan canvas, her soft lips meeting immaculate skin as she worked her way from the girl's neck down her torso. She allowed herself a brief pit stop, leaving a chaste kiss against a triangle of freckles just above the taller girl's left breast. However, she did promise that she wouldn't tease, so she let go of Santana's other wrist and allowed it to migrate south as well as the rest of her body.

Once again, she found Santana trying to buck her off and top her, but her mouth on the girl's breast, and another hand working the other, quickly nullified that initiative, earning her a few Spanish expletives that she didn't truly care to translate at the moment. Rachel was more than content to take in all of the senses she was being assaulted with. She really wanted to use her free hand to do something other than hold Santana down, but the girl was still wriggling underneath her, so it didn't seem like an option, sadly. She compromised by removing the hand over her breast and letting it stroke Santana's inner thigh.

"Berry…" the other girl hissed, her hand raking her back, as if Rachel was deserving of some punishment for her ministrations. She'd endure it, and it was a different sort of pleasant, anyway.

"I know you're impatient, baby. I promise I'll help, just trust me, let me do this for you." Rachel whispered as she moved her mouth down the girl's tantalizing four-pack. She'd always known Santana's body was glorious, but it was another thing entirely to know that on such an intimate level. Taking Santana's lack of response aside from heavy breathing as a green light, the hand caressing her inner thigh quickly moved to slide slowly down girl's slit, her thumb rolling over the bundle of nerves as she inserted a two fingers.

"Oh god!" Santana cried out, her hips canting into Rachel's touch, prompting a giggle from the diva.

"I'm hardly the goddess out of the both of us, Santana." Rachel murmured as she continued her slow pace down, deciding to free up the hand holding Santana to one of the girl's breasts, hoping to provide a little extra relief. Santana arched into her touch there as well with a sigh, and she had to smile as she tenderly placed a kiss to her abdomen. It was her first time actually doing anything sexual with another person, but she was glad that her research seemed to be holding up well. "Baby, spread your legs for me." She husked out, her body feeling like it was lit on fire, but she needed to be patient. Santana's needs had to come first.

Santana surprisingly did as she was asked, quickly getting the hint as her hands grasped at Rachel's hair, the diva's head moving down. Rachel knew her lack of gag reflex wouldn't come into play with Santana, but she felt the girl would appreciate her skilled tongue. She started slowly, working herself into a rhythm that seemed to satisfy the ex-cheerleader, her tongue agilely flicking and lapping at her clit as she worked her fingers inside Santana. Rachel couldn't help but moan with desire as she tasted Santana for the first time, the reality shattering her hopes and dreams; she didn't mind at all that the girl's hands were gripping her scalp tightly. It probably meant that she was doing well, if that and the stream of soft expletives coming from Santana were any indication, the girl's body rocking with every motion the diva made.

Rachel wasn't one to feel shame for much of anything, but she was embarrassingly turned on by how tight the other girl felt around her fingers, and how absolutely soaking wet Santana was because of her. Rachel was in heaven, and while she really wanted to take her time, her body wasn't listening. With each passing second, her thrusts became faster, her tongue worked more feverishly; Santana was clutching tightly to her, moaning and panting and mewling to her touch. To Rachel Barbra Berry's efforts. It was miraculous.

She could feel the girl tensing beneath her, and Rachel immediately slid downward and added a third digit, curling her digits inside the girl as Santana began convulsing, her walls tightening around her.

"Ra...Rachel!" Santana cried out hoarsely, her name on the taller girl's lips soon replaced by low, wordless moans as she continued her work, easing the girl down as her research had recommended. Eventually, when Santana let go of her head, she started kissing a trail up the girl's body, her hands tenderly caressing her abs, ribs, breasts, arms as she migrated upward across Santana, who was panting and occasionally arching into Rachel's touches, but who mostly lay still.

Rachel traced a path up the girl's neck with her hand before caressing the girl's head, brushing stray locks of hair that were obscuring Santana's breathtakingly beautiful face. She'd never tire of that face, let alone the memory of seeing the girl so spent and satisfied. Even with her eyes closed, she was perfect. Rachel kissed both eyes lightly before planting a soft, tender kiss on the girl's lips, and this time, Santana returned the favour hesitantly, following Rachel's lead with every motion.

"Santana…can you open your eyes?" Rachel asked softly, the girl underneath her simply shaking her head from side to side as her lip gave a hint of a quiver. "Baby, please."

"I don't understand." Santana noted weakly, her eyes still clenched shut, turning her head away from Rachel as the diva's hand cupped her cheek. "Why are you being so sweet?"

Rachel let herself lay on top of Santana, her arms snaking around the taller girl's body, holding her close. "Way back in sophomore year high school, I believed you…I believed you because I remembered the girl you used to be before you got wrapped up in popularity. And after seeing you in glee club then, and knowing you in Tisch's glee club, so happy, so free…seeing how much you cared, in your own way of course…I knew you were special. And when I found out you were single…and I saw you get sadder with every day, I…I wanted to remind you of how special you are."

"And a quick fuck's gonna help me feel that? Screw you, Yentl." Santana lashed out, her insecurity and hurt saturating each word.

"I'm not even close to finished, Santana. I have excellent stamina and breath control, and plenty of hydration on hand. You don't deserve a quick fuck…I'll make sure you understand that." Rachel purred against the other girl's chest, before propping herself up on her elbows. "Now, where shall I start this time?"

* * *

It had taken a full second round before Santana had remotely touched Rachel intimately, but she'd expected that. It wasn't as if Santana didn't consent, she'd gotten the girl to vocalize that early in their second roll in the hay, she just understood that Santana was uncomfortable with the amount of attention she was getting. Rachel had heard the stories; literally, she'd gotten accounts from Puck and Brittany on their times with the girl, and it let her know that Santana always took charge. That Santana was usually on top, making her partners feel good. It was understandable that she wasn't used to being prioritized, and while she felt bad that Santana was made slightly uncomfortable by it, she took great pleasure in the sounds she elicited from the girl. It gave her hope that eventually she'd be excited at the prospect of it.

The night, however, quickly became a blur when Santana decided to become active; she recalled the girl complaining after her third orgasm that Rachel hadn't even had one, and that wasn't cool, which had made her giggle at the time, despite her body having been riding the edge of orgasm for close to half an hour at the time. She HAD been rather worked up from being able to touch Santana as much as she'd liked. In the end, Rachel was pretty sure the count was close to even, but she couldn't help but feel like she'd won the lottery, what with Santana spooning her. Rachel was exhausted, sure, but she was too gleeful to sleep, especially when Santana's soft breaths were washing against her shoulder, or with Santana's fingers laced into her own.

Still, she managed to get a few hours of sleep, and when six AM rolled around, her body was awake and sore yet again. Lithely, she snuck out of Santana's grasp, planting a kiss on her forehead before escaping into the bathroom to clean up and go through her morning prep.

About an hour and a half later she emerged, finding a sleepy looking Santana sitting up in bed, her disheveled self entirely too cute for Rachel to not go over and kiss. Santana's dazed stare followed her as she approached the bed, her eyes closing expectantly as Rachel leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on the girl's lips.

"Morning." She noted lightly, hopping onto the empty foot of the bed. The small smile on Santana's face lingered for a moment before contorting into a confused frown.

"I don't get it." The girl said thickly, still not clear of her sleep-induced haze. "Why did you…for months, you were, like, trying to seduce me or something. You were constantly up on my body and shit. But last night…" Santana's voice trailed off as she tried to lazily smooth out her hair a bit.

"If I had gone up to you a few months ago and asked you to be intimate with me, you would have laughed at me." Rachel stated softly, which had Santana averting her gaze, curiously. "I needed to get your attention, it wasn't that I wanted to go about that way, or to focus on primarily valuing you for your beauty…I just didn't know another way. I'm sorry for using your insecurity against you, Santana."

"I'm not insecure about it." The girl huffed, crossing her arms as she turned to sit sideways, facing away from Rachel.

Rachel allowed the girl some defensiveness, she understood that she'd likely hurt Santana initially. She just hoped that she'd healed that pain enough in the past twelve hours. "You don't like bringing emotion into sex. You constantly top and control it. You flaunt your body at school, yet you get breast implants because you wanted people to notice you more. Because maybe if more people saw you, there might be someone willing to look past your appearance and love the girl you keep safe from everyone." Rachel clarified, her heart tugging as she watched Santana's face fall. "You're more than your body, Santana. When I say that you're beautiful, I don't mean just physically."

She took a chance and reached out for the girl, gently tracing her fingertips up and down Santana's bicep. "What, you think you love me or something?" Santana asked in disbelief, but her voice was so small and strained that Rachel couldn't help but close the distance between them, quickly sitting behind the girl so she could wrap her arms around her, hold her close.

"I've liked you for years, Santana. And… I've been infatuated with you for months." Rachel started, resting her head against the back of Santana's shoulder. "But I've been falling for you these past weeks. I may not be there yet…but it wouldn't take much longer to say those three words definitively."

Santana remained silent in her arms as Rachel held her, thankful that the girl was at least leaning slightly into her touch. Minutes passed before the taller girl spoke. "Why?"

It was a simple question, much like most of Santana's, yet the answer was always complicated, because there was no simple collection of reasons that made the girl worthy of love. As weeks had passed, it was almost a daily occurrence to learn of a new one, and that was when Santana was being hostile toward her, mostly. She couldn't imagine all the parts that Santana hid away from the world.

"Because you're sweet, loyal, fiercely protective with one of the most determined personalities I've witnessed…you have a wonderfully creative mind that constantly surprises me, whether through your work choreographing dance numbers, or in illustration class with your paintings and graphite drawings. Because you're witty, charming and patient when you want to be, and you generously give your free time away to help Brittany and some of our other friends with their studies…and while I have little first-hand knowledge of it, your answers in History and English back in high school were often deceptively thought-provoking, leading me to believe there's a vast intelligence you keep hidden away, one that intrigues me." Rachel listed off calmly and patiently, hoping her words were convincing the girl. "Your laughter has consistently been the sound I look forward to most all day, because it's my best chance to really hear how full of joy you are. And while all the things I've listed aren't all of my reasons, and your actions and behaviour may not have been directed at me, or been because of me…when I see you smile in glee, and when you direct that smile at me, all I know is that I want to make you smile like that all the time. Even when you're keeping yourself safe. To anyone who pays attention to the details, you'd still be so easy to love."

Santana let out a long sigh as she moved out of Rachel's arms, turning around enough to lower the diva to the bed with a gentleness she hadn't expected in the former cheerleader. Rachel soon found herself working as a human pillow, Santana lying down on top of her, the girl's arms wrapped around her waist. It was a nice feeling. "So what now?" the girl asked quietly as she got comfortable, letting out a pleased hum as Rachel stroked her raven locks.

"I can't expect you to feel the same for me in return, last night was all about you and letting you know how I feel about you, how amazing you are." Rachel whispered as her free hand caressed the other girl's back. "Just know that if you ever doubt yourself, that you can come to me, and I'll remind you in whatever way you need."

"And I can't ask you to freaking be my personal cheerleader whenever I need you to be." Santana grumbled against her while seemingly playfully nuzzling her shoulder.

"Santana, I want to be your friend, and friends do that for each other. Maybe not in the way I helped you last night, but…you deserve to have a friend who's always there, who cares about you." Rachel noted softly, kissing the top of the other girl's head. "I'd be happy with that role in your life."

"And what if I wasn't?" Santana questioned hesitantly, the girl leaning back and repositioning herself to straddle Rachel's hips. "I…fuck, you've been on my mind for weeks. Your legs…your ass…that sly fucking smile you give me sometimes. You're so small, but…I like that."

Rachel couldn't help but smile brilliantly up at the girl, whose face was full of conflicted emotions. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Santana, but…you're not much taller than me." Rachel noted with amusement; she'd always found it odd that people made fun of her height, even though she was only slightly shorter than other girls, and was still within a normal height range for women.

"I know, and I like that you're smaller. You're a fucking tease, but I'm alright with that, because I am too. And I like it when you sing, okay? And you're just as fucking cutthroat as I am when it comes to getting what we want." Santana spoke quickly, her eyes closing as she took a deep breath. "You're annoying. You're overbearing, bossy, selfish, manipulative, and you like show tunes way too much for me to be comfortable with that. You're jealous and high maintenance, too."

Rachel frowned at the list of flaws; she knew them well, as many people often pointed them out to her. She chided herself for allowing her hopes to be lifted after the start of Santana's speech, for the feeling of tears welling up in her eyes. Rachel knew she should be okay with being friends, it was just kind of wonderful for Santana to admit that she was attracted to her. The best she'd ever been given, compliment-wise, was that she was cute or hot, by Finn and Puck respectively. And those compliments were infrequent at best.

"But I…I'm kind of alright with all that, so long as you keep some of that in check or whatever, at least when we're together." Santana noted offhandedly, and despite the tone, Rachel couldn't help but memorize those words. It was as close as an 'I really like you too' as she figured she'd get out of the girl at the moment. "And Britt told me that you'd be good for me, and she's not usually wrong about that stuff. But I'm not your girlfriend or anything."

"We can…feel this whole thing out, Santana. I'm more than happy with that." Rachel admitted, blushing from Santana's ex telling her they'd be good together. Just the thought of being together with the girl made her heart burst with happiness.

"Yeah." Santana said softly, a predatory glint in her eyes as she finally opened them again, meeting Rachel's gaze. "We should probably feel things out." The girl added with a smirk, one of her hands traveling unimpeded to Rachel's ass, taking a firm squeeze of her flesh that forced a gasp from the diva.

Almost immediately, Rachel was on Santana, pushing the girl to her back as her mouth attacked her neck, one hand holding the girl's head in place while the other roughly kneaded the darker girl's breast. Santana's free hand gripped Rachel's raw back, forcing a whimper from the diva's throat, but Rachel continued on, bringing her head up to meet Santana's waiting lips in a feverish kiss. She maneuvered her hand down Santana's body and grazed the tip of her index finger along the girl's slit. Rachel's eyes widened at the fact that Santana was ready for her so soon.

Not taking a moment to hesitate, she thrust two fingers into the girl and pressed her thumb to the girl's clit, working the same rhythm Santana had coaxed her into the previous night. Again, she felt a searing pain on her back as Santana's nails managed to scrape her skin. It hurt, and she cried out a little bit from it, but she had more pressing concerns.

"Rach…what…" Santana breathed out beneath her, but Rachel silenced her with another kiss, nipping at the other girl's wonderfully soft lower lip as she pulled away.

"Just let me take care of you, San…" Rachel husked out as she inserted a third finger, knowing Santana wasn't far off by how the girl was practically riding her hand, her hips meeting her with each thrust. The taller girl's eyes held a look of concern for a brief instant, before Rachel decided there were better places for her to be paying attention to, like her breasts.

It wasn't long before Santana was sprawled on the bed, one arm clinging half-heartedly to Rachel's back as they both just rested. Rachel wasn't entirely satisfied, but she knew Santana would probably return the favour, so to speak, within a few minutes. While her research had carried her a great deal of the way through the previous night, she'd taken some tips from Santana, which seemed to make the taller girl pretty happy. And she wanted Santana to be happy.

Santana lazily moved her arm, lightly gripping Rachel's shoulder to flip them both over, but a hiss of pain from the diva stilled the former cheerleader's hand. "Berry?" Santana asked, her brow furrowed in concern as Rachel tried her best to hide the grimace of pain with a show smile. It didn't work. "Berry, sit up."

Rachel followed the order, looking guiltily at the comforter beneath her; she didn't want to cause the girl to worry about her. She was fine, her back was just a little sore.

"Oh my god, I mauled you!" Santana cried out, one hand covering her mouth as the other tenderly touched one raw area after the other. "You're bleeding…please tell me you have a first aid kit." The girl added, her voice turning harder, colder, sounding like she often did back in high school; Rachel didn't like that.

"San, it's okay, I'll be…" she started, but Santana was already off the bed, rummaging furiously through Rachel's luggage, grumbling to herself in Spanish. "Just come back here, please. I'm okay, you didn't hurt me."

Santana's head spun around, shooting her an angry glare that hurt far more than any of the abrasions she'd earned over the past hours. "Just…you should fucking leave or something. I always do this, it always happens, I shouldn't have let you top me!"

"I'm not going anywhere until you come over here, okay?" Rachel stated, challenging Santana's stern glare with a pleading look of her own. "I have a small kit in the front panel of my luggage."

She watched the girl quickly retrieve it and, with a huff, march over to her. "Get on your stomach, Berry." The girl grit out, but Rachel merely held out a hand, hoping Santana would follow her lead again. "Berry…"

"Santana, come here." She pleaded softly, needing the taller girl to let her show her that she was okay. She was relieved when Santana relented, placing the kit down at her side before taking her hand. Rachel gently led the girl back onto the bed and enveloped her in a hug. "I'm okay, San. Just a little sore. It'll heal, and I know you didn't mean it."

The other girl just burrowed her head into Rachel's neck, the affectionate gesture probably the biggest surprise of the morning. "I did it to Britt and Puck too. Every time I…I…"

Rachel rocked the girl back and forth slightly, hushing her words away. "Your nails weren't trimmed down all the way. Next time they will be, and it won't happen again. I'm fine…I'm so happy that you let me help you like that."

"I don't want to hurt you, Tink. I keep hurting you." Santana mumbled against her shoulder, and it was all Rachel could do to keep her smile from splitting her face open.

"The joy you've brought me in the past few hours has made up for any harm you've done to me, San. And I've forgiven you, okay? I know you won't try to hurt me, and that's all I ask of you." Rachel said, as reassuringly as she could, giving the girl huddled against her a tight squeeze. "I'm okay, San. And if you want to patch me up, if it'll make you feel better, I'll be happy to lay here, okay?"

Santana gently separated from her and gave a determined nod, the girl allowing her eyes to meet Rachel's. Rachel watched the taller girl open the kit and get out some band-aids and alcohol wipes, then positioned herself on her stomach, as the girl previously requested. She soon felt soft fingers touch her wounds yet again, and couldn't help but hear Santana's stifled gasp at the sight; it must have looked rather bad. "I'm so sorry, Tink. I'm so sorry."

Rachel felt herself tear up at the affection and regret in Santana's voice; it was wonderful to know she cared so much, but it hurt to hear how bad the girl felt. "I know, baby. Help me get better, okay?" she asked tearfully, trying her best to hide evidence of her emotion, knowing it would likely just upset the girl more.

"I'll take care of you, Rach." She heard just inches from her ear as the girl wiped her skin with the alcohol wipes. It stung, and she flinched, and hissed in pain, and whimpered throughout it all; yet, with every painful touch, Santana's lips would kiss part of her body. She kind of wanted to laugh at the 'kiss it better' logic, but it really was working to calm her and make her forget about the pain, so instead she gave thankful hums with each pleasant ministration.

Rachel wasn't sure when Santana had finished cleaning her up and bandaging her, her mind too focused on the soft lips peppering her body with slow, tantalizing affection. She really wished she had the capacity to understand Spanish in those moments, Santana whispering foreign words to her as her lips and hands tenderly caressed her. Each touch left a burning desire in her, Santana patiently building her back up with every fleeting graze of her nipple, every tender stroke of her ribs, every playful nip against her neck, every soft kiss against her abs. It was a slow burn, but it was lovely, and she could see that Santana was doing with her body what she couldn't say with words.

"You're so soft…" Santana whispered against her ear, running her tongue up the edge of it. "Did Finn ever touch you like this?"

Rachel was surprised by the question; she had expected it the previous night when they had both been rather aggressive, not when Santana was, daresay, touching her with a loving affection. "No…only you, San. You're the only one who's made me feel like this." She tried to be calm and collected, but despite Santana's touches being slow and deliberate, she was finding it difficult to breathe and focus from how much she desperately wanted to touch Santana in return. She knew that it meant a lot for Santana to do this for her, so she refrained, and it was pretty much all she could will herself to do.

"How do I make you feel, Tink?" the girl asked again, her mouth working back down her neck again; she was sure she'd have a number of hickeys to cover up for later when they had to go practice.

"Cherished. Safe. And so incredibly turned on." She choked out as Santana's head worked its way down her body, the girl smiling bright-eyed at her from between her legs.

Not that she forgot from the previous night, but Santana was exceptionally magnificent at eating her out; it was a fact of life that she couldn't have been happier about as her hands clenched the comforter around her. The girl's tongue was a wizard unto itself, contorting in shape in ways she hadn't imagined a tongue could, stroking her in ways that still baffled her; Santana's reputation as a 'lizard that needed a warm body under her' was partially correct, from what she could tell by the length of the thing as it thrusted into her repeatedly and agilely, forcing her hips to buck into the girl's face. Between her efforts and the mere thought of Santana emerging from her with a face covered in her pleasure, Rachel quickly came, her body shuddering as she mouthed a silent scream from all the pent up pleasure she'd endured.

Rachel wasn't sure when she'd blacked out, but it happened; otherwise Santana wouldn't have been immediately at her side, holding her, their faces inches apart. She smiled at the sight of Santana's face, still slick. "You okay, Tink?" the girl asked warmly, her eyes hopeful and pleading; Rachel had no words for the beautiful sight before her, so she merely closed the distance and pulled Santana into a gentle kiss, showing how thankful she was about how sweet the girl had been with her.

"I'm perfect, San. Thank you." She said, not at all concerned about the fact that her morning moisturizing and cleaning ritual was entirely nullified by their collective efforts. Rachel nuzzled into the girl's wet cheek and held her close, enjoying Santana's warmth. "Not just for making me feel special, but for the new nickname. I approve."

Santana chuckled nervously at that. "I, uh…well, I don't usually use full names, and…well, I thought it kinda fit." The girl stammered out adorably, and Rachel couldn't help but feel that she was falling at terminal velocity for Santana.

"Because I'm tiny and often move from one extreme mood to the next?" Rachel asked playfully; she was pretty sure she'd like the pet name for any reason the other girl could give, she'd always enjoyed the character in the books, plays and films.

"Because you're cute." Santana noted shyly, and Rachel was pretty sure if she bit her lip any harder, it'd bleed.

All she'd wanted was the girl's attention, so that she could get closer to her, be her friend. She hadn't expected anything more. She hadn't expected them to have sex, for Santana to take her virginity. She hadn't expected for the girl to be worried about her, to care for her, to like anything about her, to call her cute.

Turns out a little frustration can go a long way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the closest to PWP that I'll likely ever get. When I wrote this, it had been a very long time since I'd written anything remotely sexual, so I figured I would work off the rust with this. I'm not too incredibly happy with it, but I at least it gave me a better idea of where my shortcomings were, and what needed work. Doing the one person at a time approach helped with that a fair bit.
> 
> Anywho, hope you enjoyed. :)


	6. Sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel hosts a sleepover, but after a scary movie, she can’t sleep. And apparently, neither can someone else.

The night had been, surprisingly, a massive success; Rachel honestly hadn't expected the turnout to be quite as good, nor did she expect everyone to behave, but it had been nearly perfect. A month prior, she'd sent out invitations yet again for a birthday party sleepover. The previous two years, no one had even stopped by to say hello and offer birthday wishes, so it had surprised her that everyone had shown up. Even more of a surprise was that Brittany and Santana had been the first to arrive, and neither seemed put off by the fact that they were attending a party in her house, celebrating her birthday. It had been somewhat baffling.

Of course, Santana had to be Santana, which meant that every time the doorbell rang, the taller girl consistently beat her to the door and unleashed her snarky wit on the other guests. Though, from what she could hear, it was more playful than malicious, which had been another surprise. Not that Santana hadn't taken strides to improve her relations with the other glee members; ever since she and Brittany had split, the raven-haired girl had been seemingly trying harder to be nicer and stay included. Rachel had a feeling that Santana may have thought that glee would all side with the blonde, and leave her out in the cold, which simply wasn't the case at all. Still, Rachel appreciated the girl's efforts; she just didn't expect it to last, or to be consistent.

They'd all spent most of the night watching movies and occasionally picking them apart, eating snacks, and partaking in gossip and small talk. It meant the world to Rachel that everyone seemed to be getting along, and that her fellow gleeks seemed to be having a good time. If not for the horror film 'The Strangers' that they left the marathon off on, Rachel was sure she would have been able to cap the night off over an hour ago.

Instead, she found herself wide awake and fairly terrified, on her bed, between Tina and Brittany. Rachel had never been fond of horror movies, but she and Brittany had been outvoted by most of the other girls in the verdict, so she'd sat through it, spending most of the film hidden under her blanket. Pathetic, true, but she was admittedly a scaredy-cat. And she knew that without her usual means of calming down after such a film, she wouldn't get any sleep, and she wasn't willing to risk the night's success. Rachel knew she could catch up on sleep in the morning after breakfast, perhaps. It was winter break, after all.

However, later in the night, she heard a light rustling and opened her eyes just in time to see someone slip out her bedroom door. Rachel checked her clock, seeing that it was just past one in the morning. It was an odd time to get up, so she chalked it up to a simple bathroom break. But when the clock showed it was one-thirty in the morning, Rachel decided to slip out of bed and see what was going on.

After taking a few moments to gracefully pry herself away from the other two girls, she silently left her room and kept focused on any sounds. A light rattling sound emanated from downstairs, freezing Rachel to the spot for a moment, filled with unease. Slowly and cautiously, she descended her staircase and made her way toward the back door where the sound came from, creeping quietly down the hall toward the kitchen where the sound of a window opening met her ears. Rachel took a moment to collect herself and gain some courage before peeking her head around the corner; the room was pitch black, but it wasn't difficult to quickly spot a girl by the window above the sink.

"Is everything okay?" she asked quietly, prompting the other girl to turn around quickly, eyes wide in surprise. It seemed entirely weird that Santana was walking around her house late at night, and she kind of wanted answers.

The other girl shrugged once she was composed. "I, uh…couldn't sleep, so I decided to walk around." Santana spoke quietly, though there was definitely a familiar edge to her voice.

"Were you getting some fresh air? I heard you open the window." Rachel asked, and Santana's gaze immediately left hers, which was an entirely foreign situation. The taller girl had always had a challenging stare, and never backed down from it, yet there she was, staring at the drawer holding her family's silverware.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it." Santana grit out, the girl moving to charge past her, but Rachel was quick, blocking the relatively narrow doorway with her body. Rachel ignored Santana's frustrated sigh, and instead tried to seek out the girl's attention once again, now that she had a decent idea of what was going on.

"You were checking the windows and doors to see if they were locked." Rachel noted softly, earning a disgruntled huff from the taller girl. "It's okay to be scared by horror movies, Santana."

"It wasn't the movie!" Santana hissed out angrily, before almost immediately checking her anger, pacing back toward the sink, resting her hands on the edges of the counter beside it. Rachel cautiously followed her across the room, standing off to the side; close enough to be supportive, she felt, but far enough to give her some space. "Last month, some people broke into my home. My…my parents were gone, it was just me and my little brother. I guess they must have known my dad well or something because they cleaned his shit out right away, but…they searched every room. Two of them had guns, one had a knife, and…we didn't get hurt, but it was close a few times, until we got to the guest room and were able to get onto the roof."

Rachel let the silence descend on them for a few moments before she closed the distance and, not knowing what really to do, rested a hand on Santana's shoulder. "I'm sorry…I didn't know. I would have had them choose another…"

"Look, I didn't know what it was about either, it's just that hit a little too close to home, okay? And I couldn't sleep without knowing that everything was locked, so…I guess you can laugh at me now, or whatever." Santana added, her voice trailing off nervously at the end, something she hadn't really experienced from the taller girl. Rachel honestly couldn't imagine how terrified she would have been in that sort of situation, and was only happy to help ease the girl's mind.

"What rooms haven't you checked yet?" she asked, ignoring Santana's self-deprecating remark, happy to see the other girl appear a little relieved at her answer.

Santana led her to the den, where they worked quickly to check all the windows. Once Rachel finished up with her last one, she looked at Santana, who was clearly satisfied. "That's it." The girl noted serenely, looking entirely relaxed and sleepy. "Let's get you back to bed, okay?"

Rachel nodded hesitantly and allowed Santana to lead her through the main floor and back up the stairs, but she couldn't help but plant her feet as they neared her room. Santana looked back questioningly, before seeming to realize that perhaps she wasn't the only one who was having difficulty sleeping. "Why were you awake, anyway?"

Rachel blushed and leaned up against the doorframe of the guest bedroom, her teeth chewing on her lower lip. It was kind of embarrassing, and she was pretty sure Santana would laugh at her. "I'm too worked up and scared to sleep."

Santana simply nodded, her brow furrowed as she took a spot across from Rachel, leaning against the railing. "Britt's a really huggable pillow, and she's really warm…maybe you could let her help?" Santana asked, her gaze on the ceiling as she seemed to be thinking up solutions.

"I…well, she was warm, but she didn't help. You should go get some sleep, I'm sure I'll be alright soon." Rachel stated as confidently as she could, offering Santana a reassuring smile and nod; she didn't want to tie the other girl up in her humiliatingly stereotypical issues.

Instead, the taller girl stepped away from the railing and pulled Rachel into the guest room by the wrist, more gently than she would have expected. "Berry, you could have laughed at me, but you helped me, and that means something, okay? So just tell me what you need."

"I'd never laugh at anyone being put through such a horrible situation! And I don't want you helping me because you feel you have to, Santana." Rachel said, crossing her arms as she plopped down on the foot of the bed. She hadn't helped Santana to win anything from her, or anything. She helped because it was the right thing to do.

"It's not like that…look, I used to be horrible to you. I've tried to be better, but I fucked up hard with you, and I wanted this to be a new start or whatever. And then even though you have no reason to still be nice to me, you were, and I don't HAVE to help you, alright?" Santana stated quickly, her frustrated words spilling from her lips at a lighting pace. "But I want to, because if you can be that nice after all the shit I've put you through, maybe…look, I want to be nicer. I want to get used to it, and you deserve people being nice to you, so just tell me what you need, or I'll improvise or whatever."

Rachel stared at the babbling cheerleader, feeling both a great amount of confusion and a great amount of pride. She couldn't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, she helped kill Santana's mean side with her kindness. "Just please…don't laugh." Rachel noted, ducking her head. She had just enough courage to speak the words, but she had none left for looking at the taller girl, for seeing her reaction. After a few moments of silence, she continued. "I don't like horror movies, I…I get scared really easily. Normally, after I'm put to sleep, I…well, I, um…I sing to myself."

The sound of an amused hum softly filled the room, Rachel instinctively shrinking away against the bed; she just wanted to disappear, but Santana was quickly slipping down onto the bed, the taller girl sliding behind her. "That sounds like the Rachel Berry we all know and love." Santana noted good-naturedly, which was confusing, but not as baffling as the feel of two arms wrapping around her waist, or her body being lifted and rested on Santana's lap. Not that Rachel was really all that much smaller than the other girl, but she seemed to fit well, Santana's chin resting on the top of her right shoulder. "You didn't want to do that in front of everyone else, right?"

Rachel nodded slowly, wrapping her arms over Santana's, hoping to signal that she was comfortable where she was, hoping the other girl wouldn't release her hold. "Right."

"Do you need to sing to yourself, or could someone else sing to you?" Santana asked, and the air in Rachel's lungs seemed to just vanish, because she found herself quietly gasping for air. The prospect of Santana singing to her in such an intimate context was literally breathtaking. The other girl seemed to notice, relaxing her hold slightly. "You okay?"

Rachel put aside the concern saturating Santana's voice and simply nodded once more. "My fathers were never very good singers…no one's ever sang to me like that. I…would honestly welcome it."

As her words escaped her lips, Rachel felt Santana hold her a little closer again, pulling the both of them down onto the bed and onto their sides. It felt nice being spooned by someone who wasn't over a foot larger than her; Rachel didn't feel like she was about to be swallowed by some mythical deep-sea god like she sometimes did with Finn. His weird, murky-smelling deodorant or cologne wasn't the most relaxing thing after scary movies, after all. Santana was just a little taller, and she was a lot softer. Perhaps not as warm or bulky, but she felt comforted and safe. "What do you want to hear?" Rachel heard the girl whisper against her ear, and the reality of her situation kind of gently fell upon her. She was in bed, being held by Santana Lopez, who was offering to sing her to sleep. It was surreal, and she couldn't help herself from answering with her instincts.

"Something reassuring and sweet." She mumbled, quickly answered by a content hum. Sometimes Rachel would sing songs from Broadway, sometimes she'd sing something more fitting with mainstream music, but it was almost always something sweet that let her know she was safe and secure and loved. While she was certain Santana would be particular in her song choice, to avoid such things, Rachel just hoped it'd be something she could just melt into, because the girl's voice had always been paradoxically soothing and exciting. It was as if she never really knew how to react, unless the girl was singing some powerful song.

"Here, here…let's just stay here. You should just sleep here." Santana sang hesitating before singing 'just', almost sounding as if she was having difficulty recalling the song. Which she couldn't blame the girl for; not everyone could memorize hundreds of songs. "Here, here…let's just stay here. I should hold you dear."

Rachel smiled at the girl's voice, her eyelids already drooping as Santana's warm body embraced her, the girl's voice soft and quiet on her ear, the song for her and her alone. "When the wind comes…and the sun again, my love, I'll be here." Santana continued, Rachel unsure if a gentle squeeze was simply for effect, or because she'd just slightly repositioned herself against her.

Rachel kind of wanted to feel surprised that the girl used that word, but considering the context of her situation, and how delightfully comfy she was as she lay against Santana, she couldn't. That it sounded nothing less than sincere was the surprise, though Rachel chalked it up to a friendship sort of love. Not that she wasn't open to Sapphic desires, as she'd had her own in the past, but Santana's tastes certainly excluded her. From their history, that much was obvious. "I found a way true…in silence, with you. What do you hear? And what do you want to hear?" the girl sang, Rachel quickly falling victim to the lulling tones of the song. She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face, knowing her birthday would end in quite a remarkably nice way.

"Here, here…get me out of here. Wake me under city lights, and apple and a kiss on my ear." Santana continued, leaving a light, chaste kiss on the shell of her ear; Rachel hummed with contentment and nestled further against the singing girl, feeling too comfortable to not slip toward slumber. "Fly like days, let time erase all our mistakes. I found a way true…in silence, with you. What do you hear?"

She felt one of the arms holding her gently shift away for a moment, before Rachel felt a blanket being pulled over her. "And what do you want…to hear?" Santana sang, holding the last note for a few moments before going silent, aside from light shuffling, both arms now having vacated her. Rachel frowned, not liking that development at all. And the loss of that comfortable warmth woke her up just enough to feel confident that she could put together a full sentence.

"That you'll stay with me." She whispered into the room, knowing Santana hadn't left yet. After all, it was a sleepover; girls shared beds all the time. Even with warm, cozy, attractive ones who could be surprisingly sweet. Surely there wasn't any harm done, not with how easily Santana slipped against her back, those toned, tan arms returning to their home around her stomach. And even when Rachel interweaved her own hands with Santana's, and migrated them up to her chest, she didn't notice any complaining on the cheerleader's behalf. Instead, she felt the taller girl's legs tangle between her own, and Santana pull Rachel ever so closer.

She'd been absolutely correct before, her night was a massive success. Perhaps her morning would start off the same way as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some sweet fluff. Song is "City Lights" by Devics, by the way. A band that I highly recommend if only because Sara Lov's voice is mesmerizing and gorgeous.


	7. The Frozen Aisle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel woke up after sleeping off her migraine, her schedule now entirely in disarray. There’s only one thing that can cheer her up properly now - ice cream of the vegan variety. However, she encounters a surprise when she visits the grocery store…

Rachel Berry was a tad grumpy. Earlier in the day she'd succumbed to a painful headache, falling asleep so early that her sleep schedule would likely be fairly difficult to fix before Monday rolled around. On top of that, her sleeping meant she'd missed the musicals marathon on IFC that evening, which she'd been looking forward to all week long. On top of that, her parents had just left on a cruise for the week, and had forgotten to buy groceries before they'd left, so she was without food. And she was hungry.

So she was pretty grumpy, but not so much that she felt resigned to moping around the house for hours. No, Rachel knew of a single grocery store that was open until midnight. Checking her phone, she noticed it was just five past eleven, giving her plenty of time to shop if she wanted food.

The drive wasn't far, Lima being a small town. It had already been two months since the local Foodland extended their hours to midnight, but Rachel had never gone in so late before. Normally she'd drop in during the afternoon on the weekend, and early Wednesday evening, but that was it. When she walked through the store doors, the place looked generally empty; there was a single cashier light on, an elderly couple near the one of the aisles likely rife with canned food, and one clearly drug-addled teenager standing in awe of the kiwis in front of him. Above all else, though, the cheesy eighties rock playing over the PA system was what caught Rachel's attention.

She wasn't exactly a connoisseur of that era's music, but she'd had a poorly made radio growing up that only ever really seemed to be able to find the frequency for the local 80s pop station, and a Christian talk radio station. Needless to say, she went with the former, and while she wasn't a regular listener, it was always at least somewhat entertaining.

So she hummed along to the music as she moved through the produce section, gathering enough groceries to stock her fridge and fill her fruit bowl for the weekend. After making a brief stop at the small vegan food section, her eyes caught sight of the frozen aisle. _Ice-cream is the perfect cure for a headache…sure, it's gone now, but one can still celebrate its absence properly. And, if I recall, there is a small selection of vegan ice cream in that aisle…_

It really hadn't been much of an internal debate. She wanted something tasty to splurge a little on, so she strolled across the store slowly, taking in the sights and smells, the sound of Blondie's 'Heart of Glass' fading out. When she was just three aisles away, a familiar song started up, forcing a smile to curl at her lips. It had been one of her daddy's favourites, and he used to sing it to her when she was younger on the way to school.

As she turned the corner into the aisle, her eyes immediately found the container she was looking for, dark chocolate cashew ice-cream. She'd had one container before during the summer and she was almost certain she hadn't had anything so tasty. Rachel reached to open the freezer door, but the sound of a smooth, smoky voice down the aisle froze her in place. Her head turned to see Santana Lopez, local HBIC and fiery bitch of McKinley High, singing Starship.

"Looking in your eyes, I see a paradise…this world that I've found is too good to be true. Standing here beside you, want so much to give you this love in my heart, that I'm feeling for you…" the cheerleader sang smoothly, her eyes closed and a ghost of a smile on her lips.

It was surreal, the girl leaning up against the empty skid hauler in her aisle, singing along wholeheartedly. Her ice-cream momentarily forgotten in favour of a musical opportunity, Rachel took a few steps toward the girl; Santana hadn't spotted her yet, her focus on the other end of the aisle where a clock sat atop the wall.

"Let'em say we're crazy, I don't care about that." Rachel sang, jumping into the second vocalist's role, a wide smile on her face. Whenever the opportunity for karaoke was offered up, she simply had to go for it. She figured if Santana was singing, then she could too. Fair was fair, right?

Santana spun around and almost fell, her face entirely red, her eyes wide as her hands shot up to cover her face. The girl was clearly embarrassed, but the only way Rachel could think to normalize the experience was to just keep singing along and embarrass herself harder than the other girl. She was shameless when it came to music, and she found it would be a good opportunity to show it. "Put your hand in my hand baby, don't ever look back! Let the world around us just fall apart… baby we can make it if we're heart to heart!" She continued, trying to goad the girl into both taking her part in the chorus and offering her hand in a theatrical gesture. It wasn't as if Rachel had a reputation to protect, so she animatedly gestured to the girl, who broke out in a sort of horrified laughter at her antics.

Santana looked positively mortified, but also entirely amused, shaking her head at Rachel as she sang her part of the chorus, trying her best not to laugh throughout. As the song went on, Rachel could hardly believe Santana was acting and dancing along with her, being uncharacteristically silly for once as they both sung their hearts out to the cheesy tune. She kind of liked seeing that in the typically stone-faced, fire-eyed girl.

As the song faded out into some Peter Gabriel number she didn't recognize, Rachel stepped away from Santana, smiling widely at the girl. "That was fun!" she exclaimed, clapping happily as she let out a happy sigh. Performing was her true love, and any venue was a good venue in Rachel's mind. And she truly enjoyed having someone along for the ride, for once.

Santana had this entirely amused grin on her face that she seemed to be fighting, but her eyes were just sparkling. "Berry, you're ridiculous. Go get your damn ice-cream before the store closes." The girl noted, chuckling to herself.

Rachel did just that, feeling entirely thankful for the reminder, as ice-cream was the absolute last thing on her mind at the moment. She had to wonder how the girl knew why she was in the aisle in the first place, though. After grabbing her carton, Santana followed her to the open cash and was nice enough to check her out, saying the cashier was probably on a smoke break or left early. It was nice to just be helped by a familiar face, and she'd gotten a bemused wave from the cheerleader on her way out of the store, which she'd obviously returned, because being polite and friendly were important traits for a glee captain.

While the evening had started poorly, she couldn't contain her joy as she exited the store. In her mind, you couldn't do much better than karaoke and ice-cream.


	8. Pezberry Week '14: Rewrite Canon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel returns to the loft in the dead of night to pick up the last of her luggage, only to run into a drunk, distraught Santana. (One-shot, Rachel/Santana friendship)

It was one in the morning, and Rachel was exhausted in nearly every sense of the word. She knew the smarter decision would have been to wait until the next morning to finish retrieving her final things from her former loft, but her pride demanded it of her. Just as it had demanded she only leave with so many pieces of luggage the first time, as to not make her seem as if she were desperate, struggling or overloaded. And so, there she was, standing in front of the familiar sliding door that was a gateway to a place that held so many wonderful memories.

Memories that were now tainted, of course. By betrayal.

Well, perhaps not so much by Kurt, as she'd come around to understand his wish for a peacetime agreement between her and Santana, but he had been her friend longer. Wasn't that supposed to count for something? Rachel was still upset he hadn't taken her side, but she was giving him time to come around. Their tiff, after all, wasn't so enormous that it could render their friendship scorched earth; she just couldn't consider him her friend for a while, not after the decisions he'd made, even if they were somewhat understandable. Kurt loathed violence and conflict even more than she did.

Rachel took her key to the flat and opened the door slowly and quietly, revealing a familiar, dark living area. It brought back a number of memories of sneaking in late on a weekend after spending the night at Callbacks, but there was one marked difference between now and then. The kitchen was as clean and still as ever, they'd easily taken up a routine to clean it each night before heading to bed. All the lights and the television were off as was normal, and the privacy curtains were drawn for the bedrooms.

However, a familiar high-pitched squeaky sound broke the usual silence, letting her know that Santana hadn't swiftly taken Rachel's room as she thought the girl would have. Still, it meant an easier plan of action for retrieving the last of her luggage, so she quietly padded into her nearly empty room and finished packing the last of her items into two luggage cases, double-checking them before sealing them. Throughout the whole ten or so minutes Rachel was hole up in her room, that intermittent whimper was less audible, certainly further away, and the source of it was out of sight. It was when she rolled those suitcases out toward the front door that a slightly louder whimper, actually followed by a sob, stopped her in her tracks.

Rachel was literally within reach of the door. She could, in fact, grab the handle and pull it open, securing her escape and, at least morally, her victory. Yet, her feet wouldn't move her forward, her arms wouldn't stretch outward to take hold of the door-handle. It angered her; Rachel had always hated when Santana would cry, and in the rare past occasions would try to cheer her up.

Grunting in frustration, she let go of her luggage, spun on her heel and looked toward the living room, noticing Santana halfway under the duvet she'd taken from Kurt, clutching a near-empty bottle of tequila. Both only incensed her, seeing as it was a work night and Santana shouldn't have been drinking herself into oblivion, and that while the duvet was Kurt's extra one, Santana regularly treated it as if it were her own. How Kurt chose Santana over her was beyond Rachel's comprehension.

She swiftly marched into the area, though her feet froze as her gaze fell upon a very familiar picture frame on the coffee table. It had been one of Santana's absurd 'garage sale' finds around town, one of the few that she had approved of in fact. It was a solid, sturdy thing in the shape of a stick figure human holding up a frame, and the day Santana had come home with it, Rachel had excitedly ran off to her room and grabbed her photo album to try and figure out what to fill the frame with. She'd barely been three pages in when Santana peered over her shoulder and pulled out the graduation day photo of the both of them, telling her it was perfect. Her heart had warmed, watching Santana walk out toward the front door and proudly place the frame on their shelf, right beside their roommate notebook and above the basket for keys and spare change. The goofy smile and two thumbs up directed toward her right after had had her thinking that they were starting something special at the loft. That the three of them had something special.

It was with that memory in mind that Rachel bit her tongue, closed the distance between the two of them, and reached to grab the bottle of tequila from the crying girl who didn't seem to be cognizant of the fact that she had company. Santana's grip on the bottle was a little stronger than she'd anticipated, so she pulled a move out of Santana 101, throwing the oversized duvet off Santana, hanging the excess over the back of the couch so that Santana was entirely exposed, knowing that the crying, half-awake and mostly drunk girl would eventually let go of the bottle to get covered again. Santana was nothing if not consistent in that she really had difficulty keeping warm, and would more or less sacrifice anything while sleepy to get warm.

Santana soon let go of the bottle, which promptly rolled to the floor with a loud thunk, Rachel too surprised at what the bottle had been pressing into Santana's chest to react quickly enough. Blindly, she knelt and grabbed for the bottle, placing it on the table as she stared hard at the mangled mess of familiar photo paper that Santana was now hugging against her chest. Rachel's head swiveled to the coffee table for confirmation, quickly noticing the assortment of glues and tape beside the bottle of tequila.

Her heart clenching in her chest, she reached out toward the whimpering girl and cautiously pulled the 'repaired' graduation photo away from her, marveling at how mangled it was. Sure, she'd torn the photo into pieces, and not the neatest ones at that, but Santana had never been very good at crafts and it showed. Honestly, it was about a thousand times more haggard than any photo reasonably should have been, but the fact that Santana clearly put the effort into taping their graduation photo back together was doing strange things to her stomach.

Deciding to take some pity on the girl so that Santana didn't drink herself to death and prematurely curse the show, she slid the photo into the frame and marched over to the TV, hiding the tequila bottle behind it amongst the mess of tangled wires.

Relatively content with her good deed for the night, she got to her feet and went to move toward the foyer again when she noticed Santana staring owlishly at her as if she'd seen a ghost, tears leaking freely from her eyes.

It was one thing to hear the girl's cries, and to witness the girl crying into one of the throw pillows, but watching Santana cry openly, having to see her face, made it so she couldn't just leave. And that just escalated Rachel's anger, wondering if Santana was using her weakness against her.

However, Rachel also knew that Santana tended to be something of an open book while drunk, and while the girl would often cry hysterically in such a state, she really could see clear hurt on her former roommate's face. Many memories of that expression filtered into her mind, Rachel placing special focus on brushing aside the one from earlier in the day during their standoff and her subsequent exit. That was obviously a presentation of Santana's quality acting skills, seeing as Santana was never hurt when sober. Except for when Brittany rejected her, and when Finn outed her, among a few other instances, but they weren't relevant. The expression mostly reminded her of the night Brittany had posted she'd married Sam, when Santana had drunk herself into a hysterical stupor over how her ex had gone to Sam first when she thought the world was ending. That the girl she clearly still loved hadn't considered her, but instead someone else, and the hurt had been clear as day. She spent that night consoling the girl.

Just like Santana had consoled her through Finn's passing. Sure, Santana had mostly been her usual snarky, crass self during the day, but at night, after two or three shots, Santana would crawl into Rachel's bed and hold her. She'd tell her all these obscure little moments between her and Finn, like some time Santana accidentally sat on Chocolate cake and Finn had covered for her. They grieved together, and she'd been surprised at the time to find it was an unwelcome feeling, having someone else there with her. It had her wondering how she could let Santana in when she'd kept Kurt at arm's reach during the entire process.

Rachel shook her head, deciding it wasn't important, not anymore. Steeling her features, she focused her gaze on the drunk, upset girl. "I came to get the rest of my luggage."

Santana sniffed and ducked her head, mumbling something that was rendered inaudible by the girl's sobbing. It was hard to watch, so she turned her head toward the exit, keeping her goal in sight much like she had growing up while exercising in the morning. "Speak up if you're going to speak at all, Santana."

Her ex-roommate sluggishly moved to a sitting position, ensuring she was still somewhat wrapped in the duvet, her focus strictly on the photo frame. "You're my family." Those three words felt like bile in Rachel's mouth.

"You never treated me like family. And if you did, it was poorly." She remarked, scoffing at Santana's gall for ever saying such a thing. It was absurd to even attempt to consider it. "Do you betray all of your family, Santana?"

A sob and a frustrated whine sounded from the drunken girl, who let her outburst out into the duvet, hiding her face away momentarily while she blubbered something or other. Rachel rolled her eyes again at Santana's inability to speak clearly; it was rare that Santana slurred noticeably when drunk, so she knew the girl had no excuse.

"Speak up, Santana." She grit out, unsure why she was wasting her time, outside of feeling a little relief from letting out a bit of her anger at the girl.

"I had a…a dream." Santana mumbled a little more clearly, puzzling Rachel entirely. A dream? She knew Santana dreamed often. Her ex-roommate would often mumble about them in a sleepy daze during breakfast before she got coffee into her system.

"Is this some Martin Luther King jr. kind of dream, or are you so delusional that you think you can convince me that Fanny Brice was your dream? Because she's not your dream, she's MY dream, Santana, and she has been my dream since I first saw Funny girl when I was five years old!" Rachel ranted, only halting her spiel prematurely because Santana had been shaking her head repeatedly since the start.

"At the photoshoot…oh god, I'm not feelin' so good…but…the photoshoot. I kinda daydreamed we sang that sappy 'Brave' song by Sara…Sara Bara…Baralees? Bareels?" Santana spoke, her train of thought veering off topic as she tried pronouncing Sara Bareilles' name properly.

The whole idea of Santana daydreaming some musical performance had her nervous, and a little wary. Honestly, Rachel experienced those often, and wasn't aware that many others, aside from Kurt on the rarest of occasions, had them. Especially Santana. "A musical daydream?"

"Yeah, you called me over, and I was in this really kickass gold and black dress, and…and we sang side by side, and I had goosebumps and it was great and then I realized it didn't happen and that sucked. It fucking sucked, Berry." Santana rambled, her focus shifting from Rachel to her hands, then the table, and then the room in general. "I lost my tequila. Jose. Jose!"

Rachel rushed forward, clamping a hand over Santana's mouth, hoping the outburst hadn't woken Kurt. "I moved your tequila somewhere safe. You can see Jose tomorrow." She clarified in a chiding tone, really hating that Santana was so drunk. She hated Santana crying, but drunk Santana was a close second. Sure, drunk Santana would usually be far more open and cuddly, but it was self-destructive behaviour, and thus wasn't something she could tolerate. "Why did it suck that the dream wasn't real?"

After a second or two, Rachel moved her hand to let Santana speak. "I was happy. You were happy. We were happy…like, really happy. And awesome. Because we're awesome or nothing, and we were totes awesome."

"Okaaay?" Rachel asked, unsure what Santana was even getting at, and whether she'd be able to figure out anything from the girl going forward. It was becoming fairly clear that she may be wasting her time.

"You got your shit figured out, you're…you're there. You made it." Santana added, starting to clap her hands before Rachel stilled the girl's motion, not wanting to wake Kurt and bring another body into the confrontation. "And I…you suck really bad, you know, but I'm still fuckin' proud of you. I told you. I told you, okay? I did. In the diner. And I don't wanna be there forever, Gunther's a creepshow and I don't want to be…whatever."

Rachel cocked an eyebrow at the rambling drunk, who either sobbed or gagged, she wasn't entirely sure, before she continued. "I told me to be brave and I did. I…I was. In that dream, I made it too, and I could be someone you could, like, sing with and everything. But here…I didn't, you know? So I tried to make it. 'Cuz you kept telling me I would, and that I should try, so I did, but I didn't really know how. I just want to make it."

The halfway organized rant struck a chord with Rachel as she recalled the many times she'd reassured Santana that she'd find some direction, that New York was a huge metropolis full of opportunities. It was even odder hearing Santana actually sounding so unsure of herself, and admitting that she didn't really know what she was doing. It was sort of pleasant, in that Santana was being so open with her, but she pushed that to the side, mentally. Santana had encroached on her home turf without permission.

"Was trying to take my spotlight your big, bright idea, Santana? Because newsflash, I'm not going to let that happen." Rachel grit out, trying to stare Santana down, but it was difficult with Santana shaking her head. And then with Santana gagging.

Rachel had too much respect for her old home and for Kurt's nearby throw rug to let Santana destroy it with her acidic vomit; she quickly dragged Santana into the washroom, kicked open the toilet seat, grabbed Santana's hair and put it into a ponytail as the girl expelled the contents of her stomach into the ceramic bowl.

She was trying to be entirely impersonal about it, but it really was something of a tradition between the two of them. Rachel rarely drank to the point of sickness, while Santana overindulged often, ensuring there were many such occasions of her helping Santana in the washroom. Sure, many of the memories weren't the typically nice sort, but after all the messy stuff was over with, Santana would drag her to the couch, plop them both down onto it, and Rachel would sit with the taller girl 'til she fell asleep. And Santana would always ensure Rachel was right up against her, usually by leaning on the diva. While her former roommate never thanked her verbally, her body language was usually enough of an admission, as well as through the common affectionate gestures like taking her hand or resting her head on Rachel's shoulder or lap.

Santana's hoarse voice broke her from her trip down memory lane, and Rachel wasn't sure if she was to be thankful for that. "You're my family." Santana noted, sounding a little more sober than before, her tone less hysterical and her words less slurred through sobs.

"You already said that." Rachel replied instantly, leaning away from her former roommate and getting to her feet, unsure if Santana was done vomiting. However, that was clarified by Santana vomiting for another minute or so mere seconds later.

"Family…protects each other. Supports each other. " Santana added, and Rachel couldn't help but wonder why her former roommate was trying to guilt her for apparently failing in her familial duties to the girl.

Santana rose from the toilet and silently washed her hands and rinsed out her mouth. When done, the girl turned to look at Rachel, her gaze sharper now, even with the tears still present; Santana went to reach out and rest a hand on Rachel's shoulder, but the diva shook it off, cautious over her nemesis' intent. Which only resulted in another of Santana's signature high pitched whimpers spilling out.

It was as if Santana knew all her buttons, seeing as she'd always found those sounds adorable and cute given her ex-roommate's normally fiery and thorny behaviour. It really was a drastic shift, and it tended to make her heart hurt just a little. And even as she tried steeling herself to the sound, it was impossible not to flinch a little from the hurt spread across the girl's face.

Santana averted her gaze, frowning as she focused on the tile floor instead. "I wasn't selfless, I wanted that understudy role for reasons, okay? I wanted to prove that I was good enough. I wanted to figure out what I wanted to do, and I wanted to get better at it. And I'm so fucking tired of being called the 'yeast infection girl', and wanted to give myself a better rep." Santana listed off as she leaned against the bathroom door, her gaze still downcast as Rachel tapped her foot. It wasn't often she ever came face to face with recovering drunk Santana, who was often sober enough to be mean and smart with her verbal barbs, but open enough to speak at length about 'hard truths'. The last time, shortly before Santana caught Brody, had been something of a miserable experience, and she was sure this wouldn't be any different given their feud.

"Are you done, or will you kindly get out of the way and let me leave?" Rachel half asked, half demanded, only to get a watery scoff as Santana wiped away a few more trails of tears off her cheeks.

"Calm your skeeterbites, I'm NOT done." Santana grit out, crossing her arms and cocking her hip in a familiar stance that let Rachel know the girl was uncomfortable. It had been one of the trickier things to learn about the girl, but after some pattern recognition, it became clear enough. "I spent months living with you. Every fucking day, I saw how lonely and hurt, how stressed and worried you were. You've been having a shit time since Valentines' Day, and especially since Finn died…and you were just clutching onto that role in Funny Girl like a god damn life raft. It was annoying as hell, but I got it, alright? I get it."

"I'm tired of you playing armchair psychologist, Santana. Let me out." Rachel grit out, trying to get the door open behind Santana, but the taller girl as stronger than her and pulled her into a hug, both of them leaning hard against the sink. Rachel struggled in the girl's grasp, but Santana was unrelenting, preventing her from gaining any leverage. "Santana, let me go!"

And just like that, Santana shoved Rachel away, toward the bathtub; thankfully, there was a fair bit of clearance, and she just stumbled backward.

"I didn't want any stupid bitch to shank you and steal your dream, Rachel!" Santana voiced loudly, wiping at her face again and slumping back against the bathroom door. Rachel was incensed by the statement, tossing out an accusatory finger at Santana.

"You just wanted that honour for yourself!" She yelled, all worries of Kurt waking up banished from her mind as she focused on the source of her stress and suffering right in front of her.

Santana let out a frustrated sigh, her hands flexing in and out of fists as muttered Spanish curses spilled from her mouth. "It's…fuck, it's fucking embarrassing, but I don't know what I'm doing, Rachel!" Santana exclaimed, hints of desperation in her voice as Rachel moved toward the door to escape again, only to be lightly shoved back by Santana again. "No, no! You can leave when I'm done, because I'm drunk enough to say all this crap, and for everything I've done for you these past months, I've earned a few minutes."

Rachel felt entirely trapped and claustrophobic, just wanting desperately to leave and to not hear a single word from Santana's lips for the rest of her life, but it appeared she wouldn't be allowed that luxury for another few minutes. So, trying to be patient, she crossed her arms, mimicking Santana's posture, and leaned against the sink in wait.

"You're going to be this big fucking star. So will Kurt, okay? Because as much as you're pissing me off right now, you're an awesome performer, you both are. And I know I'm awesome too, but I have no damn clue how to show it, and how to earn a shred of respect from you two. It's infuriating, and every day that passes, I just feel more lost, because you have it figured out, everyone has their 'thing' figured out except me." Santana ranted at a breakneck speed, words spilling furiously out of her as she paced the narrow space in front of the door, her gaze shifting between her own hands and Rachel.

It was reassuring to hear Santana's clear confidence in her talent and her life-plan, and to hear the girl's confidence in Kurt too. And, really, it wasn't a surprise at all to know Santana was feeling lost. It was why she'd tried to help the girl find some direction in recent months. And yes, most of the gleeks that had graduated really did have their goals figured out and were well on their way to achieving them. It made sense for Santana to feel left out, but Rachel wasn't so sure what it had to do with her.

"So I tried out for the understudy role. I auditioned with your performance from sophomore year, with some small adjustments to better fit my vocal range and style, because fuck if I know how to audition for that sort of thing. I have no fucking clue, I just don't KNOW what to do! Hell, it worked for you at sectionals, so I figured maybe it'd be good enough for me there. I mean, I love performing, I know Grease word for word, I've watched Rent a million times, and playing Anita was as easy as breathing. But auditioning for BROADWAY? Without any real experience or school or whatever that mattered? Who was I, when I'm sure hundreds of drama nerds across the city were orgasming at the opportunity to understudy for a lead role? I'm the girl that got shot down for a lounge singing job, how the fuck was I gonna get the role?" Santana continued, her body visibly roiling with tension and fury as the pacing became quicker, the turns sharper. Rachel just remained at the sink, feeling a little sated to hear why Santana had chosen that song to audition with because of a complete lack of understanding about Broadway. Which, honestly felt good; Broadway had been her world since she was four or five, and that Santana used her as a reference in hopes to get the role was flattering, in an annoying way. Because the girl still replicated her performance, one that was sacred in her heart, much like how the song was pretty much only done justice by her.

"I have talent, even you've admitted that, Berry, but I just have no idea how to turn that into…anything. So I tried to fake your style to try and make it, hoping that maybe I'd get the part and you could keep helping me figure my shit out, and I could make sure no one gave you shit or tossed you down the stairs during rehearsals. You wouldn't have some ruthless diva piece of shit gunning for you from the start, you'd have me." Santana stated, her pace slowing to a stop as the drunk, exhausted girl slumped back against the door, looking wearily at Rachel, apparently having burned away all her energy in the pacing. "I don't wanna be Fanny full time, okay? Never wanted that. Never will. I just want to figure my shit out, because I love dancing, singing and acting, and I'd get to do all three daily, around a bunch of pros. And I could keep you de-stressed and free of having some bitch of an understudy trying to trip you up, at least for long enough so you could establish yourself, you know? It seemed like such a badass plan. Win-win all around. I get what I want, you get what you want, everyone's happier, and I can spend more time with my new BFF until I head to bigger and better shit."

Rachel's arms had fallen to her side midway through Santana's spiel, at her sincere admission that she'd never wanted the lead role at all. It was hard to believe, given Santana's ambition, but the girl was ridiculously easy to read while drunk, and she couldn't find a hint of a lie in there. It was honestly more than a little troubling; Santana's scheme made a strange sort of sense. And if Rachel accepted that Santana knew little of Broadway and the workings of stage theatre, it was easy to accept that the girl also knew little of the politics around understudies. It was a big IF, but she wasn't entirely set in her beliefs on Santana's intent anymore.

"I've always wanted to be famous, to be a star. I told you all that in senior year, and Schue gave me hell for it. Britt released a sex tape of me that'll haunt me forever and kill my job prospects in most lines of work. I'm gonna get there, though, I just don't know what I'll be starring in yet. No damn clue, but this job was the best way to earn my way toward it, okay? I'm not gonna be a star in Funny Girl…but I'll be a star one day, because I'm your equal. We're both equally fucking awesome." Santana insisted fervently, her stare piercing Rachel, holding her in place as Santana slowly stepped closer to her, a clear pleading in her deep brown eyes for Rachel to understand what she was saying.

It was almost funny, really, that Santana was refusing to apologize directly, and was instead whitewashing her previous comments with better ones. Rachel wanted to believe Santana was sincere, but she honestly needed the girl to remain open, at least on that. So she crossed her arms once again, drawing a groan from the taller girl.

"Look, I'm…I'm your equal. Not better, not worse… your equal. I was an idiot to say what I did. I was pissed that you were angry at me when I was just trying to make things happen for the both of us. I was wrong, okay? You were being a bitch, and I should have called you out on than and explained myself instead of picking you apart like that." Santana clarified, surprising the hell out of Rachel as the taller girl unraveled Rachel's arms and took hold of one of her hands, toying a little with the digits. It was something Santana tended to do absentmindedly while they watched Netflix together, though the active pursuit of them had Rachel wondering if it wasn't intentional.

"So you can hate me. You can hate me if you want. You can say we've never been friends, that it was all pretend, but that's bullshit. Maybe it was for you…I doubt it, but whatever. Maybe it was. But I'm a hardcore friend, Berry, and I protect my family. And I'm not giving up on this role, so you're gonna have to deal with me being around. I'm not gonna take your lead role away…but you can believe that if you want." Santana finished with a sigh, letting her hands slip away from Rachel's, the taller girl's gaze shifting upward to meet Rachel's. "You were wrong when I warned you about Brody, and how you were falling apart. You willing to bet on being right this time around?"

With that, Santana stepped out of the way, leaving a clear path open to the bathroom door. She wasn't sure what to do, as it was very late, and she desperately needed to sleep, but her head was a mess at the moment. There was just far too much to think about, mentally recount, and reassess to perform a proper threat assessment.

"You…expect me to take your word for it?" Rachel asked hesitantly, entirely unsure what to think about much of anything as Santana gazed neutrally at her, looking much more sober than a mere half hour ago.

"No. I expected you to trust that I was your friend when I auditioned. That didn't work out, and I didn't know you well enough, I guess. And we both made some mistakes, and you moved out. I expect you…I expect you to hate me, I guess, but..." Santana added somberly, dropping her gaze to the bath mat as she wrung her hands, her voice fading out. The hand wringing was one of Santana's few tells that she was emotionally vulnerable, and it was an odd thing to witness. Rachel had honestly only noticed it happen twice in her life, when Santana approached Brittany with her confession, and when she'd gone to leave the flat earlier that say.

Honestly, she was just now realizing the girl had done that, having been too focused at the time on making a dramatic exit. Quinn had told her about the taller girl's habit once during her and Santana's trip down a few months ago, after Santana had passed out for the night, and she'd taken the girl at her word. Before she could ask her ex-roommate a question, Santana's voice filled her ears in a soft, whispered tone.

"I guess I just hope you'll believe me like you did back then."

Rachel nodded at the words as everything clicked into place mentally. Why Santana was drinking, why she'd taped the photo back together, why Santana was so upset, why the girl wanted her to believe in her. Santana drank when she was upset, and the girl was upset because she'd torn the photo up. A photo that represented how close they'd grown together as friends.

And Santana was perceptive, hard-headed, and tactless enough to try out for the understudy spot; Rachel had spent a week talking her and Kurt's ears off about the matter, so it was a typical Santana Lopez 'kill two pigeons with one stone' powerplay. Rachel had been too far in her own world to think about things from Santana's point of view, and they had both been hurt because of it. Not that Rachel was about to take full blame for the catastrophe, but she was quickly realizing what a mistake she had made, and what olive branch was being offered to her at the moment.

Rachel reached out for Santana's hand and firmly took hold of it, drawing the taller girl's immediate attention. "It's too late for me to go back to Elliott's. The mattress is still there in my room, right?" She asked, earning a slow nod from Santana. "May I give you a hug?"

The request was met by another confused nod, Santana's tense body melting into her as the diva wrapped her arms around her. "I believe you, Santana. I'm so sorry for doubting you, I'm so, so sorry." She whispered into Santana's ear, sending the taller girl into a fresh crying fit, hot tears dripping down onto her shoulder as her roommate clung tightly to her. It just felt right, the two of them embracing, connecting again as friends, as family. She wasn't even thinking as more words spilled out from her. "You're an amazing friend, Santana. I tried so hard to be mad at you, to forget everything, but it's impossible. I'm sorry I said what I did earlier, you're my 'awesome' best friend, and I'd be lost without you."

"Fuck." Santana muttered into the side of her head, the girl's face now buried in Rachel's hair. "Just…just don't scare me like that again, and we're even, 'kay, Berry?"

Rachel immediately shook her head at the request, feeling more anchored by guilt with every passing second. She'd been such a fool! "No, Santana. But how about this…I'll sit by you tonight until you fall asleep, and tomorrow, I'll help you with your hangover. After work, we'll find a way to make enough space for your own private area here, too, because you're paying rent and deserve it. And then, when Funny Girl is picked up for a run on Broadway, you'll get opening night on the one-month anniversary of the premiere." She declared, leaning back to get a good look at Santana's face, needing to show the girl that she was very serious about her next words. "But all of that…that's not to make up for what I did. I can't. I hurt you."

Santana's increasingly sober self averted her gaze at that last assertion, but Rachel took hold of the girl's chin and forced it right back. "I'm your friend, Santana. And I want you to be happy…just as happy as you make me."

Santana bit her lip and offered an apologetic smile before looking to the door. "Well…okay, Berry. But can we do the sitting thing on your mattress instead of the couch? Because I think I spilled a half a bottle of tequila on the cushions, and I don't want to wake up smelling like a liquor store."

Rachel smiled at her re-acquired friend, feeling more than a little thankful that the day's conflicts had been settled before dawn washed over the city. "Grab your duvet and pillows, Lopez."

Santana rolled her eyes and pulled Rachel in for another hug, a fleeting kiss pressing against the shell of her ear. "Sure thing, Rach."

Rachel watched Santana walk away from her, stopping at the bathroom door after opening it. Her roommate offered her an oddly shy smile before slightly staggering deeper into the flat toward that couch of hers.

Rachel leaned back against the sink, knowing that when Finn passed, it had been so difficult to believe in anything, whether it was faith, her own talents, or basically anything else. But hearing Santana mutter Spanish and audibly clumsily gather all the required pillows and blankets had her believing that she had a good thing there with Kurt and Santana. And that with Santana's help, maybe her star would shine brighter.

She'd call Elliott the next day and thank him for his hospitality, of course, but right then she had a drunken girl to cuddle with, and with both of them quite sleep deprived, she wasn't about to pass that up.


	9. Pezberry Week '14: Reacquainting After Years Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel, while celebrating a close friend’s bachelorette party, runs into an old friend, both women reconnecting a little more intimately than expected.

Rachel wasn't entirely sure what she was doing as she followed the bride and other bridesmaids into a rather upscale looking club. They'd been partying in various places all night and there weren't any signs of the roaming bachelorette party coming to an end; heck, they'd started in Miami earlier in the evening, so she supposed they'd already been fairly ambitious. It's just that it was three-thirty in the morning, and she was uncertain just why they HAD to move to another club. The last one had been perfectly fun and acceptable, really.

Still, it was her former cast mate Megan's wedding, and she couldn't just take off. Not when it was Megan's last night as a single lady; it was oddly fitting that the woman who played Glinda was getting married, while she, formerly Elphaba, had been single for years. Well, people often declared that Rachel was married to her work, but that was something of a cop out. It's not that she wasn't ecstatic for Megan, her fiancé Greg was a fantastic guy and she knew they'd be in it for the long haul. Rachel just wondered where she went wrong in her life-plan that had her married by twenty-five. Being less than a year away from thirty had friends bugging her about possible paramours more than even the paparazzi was.

Either way, she followed the six other girls in their 'Magnificent Seven' group, weaving through the club into a restricted VIP area that Megan excitedly waved them into, taking a rather ornate stairwell to another floor. Rachel didn't expect much, as she'd been waiting all night for the strip club extravaganza to occur, and it was clear from the main level that it was full of nearly nude performers. Mostly women, though she'd spotted a few men through the crowds as well, which was a little bit of a surprise; most strip clubs, to her knowledge, weren't co-ed.

However, Megan WAS a self-declared pansexual, so Rachel imagined the bride would be excited to get her last taste of a woman's touch, perhaps through a lap dance or two. Rachel knew pretty much the rest of the girls, beside herself, were straight, so having a co-ed strip bar seemed like a good compromise for all parties involved.

Once up to the top floor, the party was escorted to a large booth, and Rachel, feeling just a smidgen wiped from the long night of dancing and craziness, decided to sink into the comfy cushions and rest her eyes for a few seconds to recuperate. She smiled as some unfamiliar voices intruded on the girls' conversations, listening as Claire apparently decided to get herself a lap dance. _Good for Claire…she could use some fun after her bastard of a husband cheated on her with her understudy. Maybe it'll help her move on…_

The throbbing bass-heavy music was oddly sensual and relaxing, letting her just enjoy a few moments of solitude amongst the chaos of the bachelorette party, the voices of the two male dancers blending into the background along with her friends'. It was only the arrival of another dancer that brought Rachel remotely out of her haze.

"And what should we call you, you delicious specimen?" Rachel heard Carly ask, and gosh if she didn't feel a little nauseated sometimes at how that woman talked. Seriously, if she wasn't aware that Carly was a totally harmless sweetheart, that woman would likely creep the hell out of her.

"Well, the boys usually say I'm Satan's little helper, and my coworkers call me Satan, but you…you can call me Diabla, honey." That voice shot Rachel's eyes wide open, her mind tracing her memories for the face and name of who it matched. The dancer was facing away from Rachel, leaning deep into Carly's personal space, her long raven hair masking her face, but the skin-tone, despite the lighting, gave her an idea.

Still, it was far-fetched. Rachel hadn't seen the woman in nearly eight years, and when she last had, her friend had been leaving New York to go to LA to make her way in the music industry. It seemed absolutely impossible that the woman would end up back in the Big Apple without her or the other gleeks knowing.

Yet, her suspicions were confirmed when something Carly said made the woman laugh, and Santana's face became visible as she slid onto the table and began dancing for the blonde. Rachel shook off her surprise of Carly actually requesting a dance from a female stripper, instead focusing on the intricate, sensual rotations of Santana's hips and how the woman's skin seemed to glow in the lowly lit room.

"See anything you like, Rach?" She heard Megan call out loudly, and drunkenly, as the bride was practically being suffocated by the ridiculously toned male dancer straddling her. Most of the other bridesmaids were looking at her with big grins or amused smirks on their faces as well, and it was then that Rachel started to think that perhaps she'd been staring for a while. It was late and she was tired, so it made sense that time would get away from her.

However, it did provide something of an opening for her, and that opportunity was not about to be wasted. "Do they do private dances here? I'm feeling a little wiped, and could use to get perked up a little." She called back, earning one or two shocked expressions alongside Megan and Claire's howling laughter.

The ruckus seemed to bring about Santana's attention, the vixen smoothing a hand across Carly's cheek, blowing her a saucy kiss before crawling across the table to a slightly anxious Rachel.

"And what do we have here? Not often I get a lady willing to pay without a test drive." Santana purred, actually purred, at her, the low predatory tone sending Rachel's stomach into somersaults.

Rachel put on her best face of confidence, hoping it would at least trick her friends. "I suppose I have an eye for talent, and I'd wager you're the best girl here by a landslide. You take my breath away, and I have a feeling you could start me up. There are worse things I could do than buying a private dance. But if I can't have you…"

Santana cocked her head to the side as Rachel's words tailed off, challenging the dancer to respond. She hadn't noticed her friend react to any of the song references, but she was a hundred percent certain it was Santana in front of her. She knew that smirk, that voice, that charm.

"You're in luck, Broadway." Santana noted with a playful wink, getting off the table and waiting for Rachel to squeeze past her friends.

Rachel caught Claire, the maid of honour's eye, mouthing that she'd pay her back for the dance, earning a quick cheeky thumbs up from her friend in response. Because really, it wasn't as if she couldn't pay for numerous private dances fairly easily.

When she stepped free of the last of the other women, Santana took Rachel's hand and rested it firmly on her ass, as Santana wrapped an arm around Rachel's waist and led them through the club and down a long hallway with doors on each side. Santana opened the second on the left and gestured for her to enter, a rather polite act for her friend to do, which only had Rachel more curious.

Once she was inside with the door closed behind her, she could literally feel the atmosphere change. Before, it was a little playful, saucy, teasing, but now it was as if her body's temperature was rising rapidly as she looked around the small, dark room. Rachel let Santana take her hand and lead her to the padded seating along the wall, and before her mind could catch up with what was going on, Santana had pushed her down onto it and straddled her.

"Santana, stop it!" She called out as the woman felt herself up and flipped her hair back, their torsos barely separated by an inch. The music was low, slow and sensual in the room, so there was no excuse not to heed her demands, but the girl didn't leave her lap. Instead, she very quickly found Santana's lips peppering her neck. _And here I thought that a private dance would literally just be a private dance…what is going on?!_

"Most call me Diabla, but you can call me whatever you like, mi amorcito." Santana whispered in her ear in response, the Spanish at the end going over Rachel's head; it had been far too long since she studied it in high school, and even then, Mister Schuester wasn't exactly a great teacher.

Rachel, feeling a little frustrated and overwhelmed by the sudden intimate attention, stomped her foot, setting her hands on Santana's shoulders and forcibly putting some distance between them, even if it was just distance between Santana's lips and her skin.

"I'm serious, I just want to talk." She stated firmly, hoping it would get through to her old friend, but Santana only offered a confused, if slightly amused look.

"I don't usually play therapist, and there are better ones at a cheaper rate…but so long as I can fondle you a bit for the cameras so I don't get in trouble, I'm good with it." The dancer reasoned calmly, quirking an eyebrow up as her eyes scanned Rachel's body and face. "Besides, with a lady as elegant as you, how could I keep my hands to myself?"

It was a decidedly flirtatious addendum to the confirmation that Santana would be okay with just talking, and perhaps inappropriate and underhanded given what she was attempting to do with her old friend, but Rachel couldn't help but feel flattered by the sweet, albeit confusing words. Her telltale blush was enough to get Santana's seal of approval, a surprisingly chaste kiss to her red cheek. "Elegant?" she asked, not really understanding why Santana would say such a thing, given their history.

Santana shrugged and ran her hands achingly slowly down Rachel's sides, the dancer's hips gyrating teasingly against her core. "You seem high-class, and I always make sure to treat ladies like they deserve." Her old friend purred into her ear, and while Rachel felt suffocated by how close Santana was, and the friction the dancer was creating, she couldn't help but shudder in response to the combination of compliments and fluttering kisses from the shell of her ear down the column of her neck. The heat pooling at her core let her know she was in deep trouble now, even if it was getting much harder to care by the second.

She really did try to focus. Rachel worked her mental faculties hard in trying to just put some distance between them, as Santana had agreed to talk, and she needed to start talking. But every time she'd think up the words to start it off, Santana's fingers would trace a rather sensitive erogenous zone under her left ribs and scatter her thoughts, or the woman's tongue would firmly press into her pulse point and take her breath away. Or a great many other actions that ensured the only sounds coming from Rachel's mouth were gasps and moans.

So Rachel really tried not to be terribly surprised when her hands found Santana's ass and gave it a firm two-handed squeeze. All throughout high-school, it had been a distraction, and in New York it had tortured her with how often Santana would just walk around in her underwear. She knew she was spiraling out and losing the fight to keep it all platonic and conversational, but getting to feel that ass felt like victory, and the sexy mewl it tore from Santana's lips were her spoils.

That brief window of Santana's head thrown back allowed her to speak, so she did, though she honestly couldn't say she'd be disappointed in either possible direction their interaction would take at this point. "Why are you working here?" She asked breathlessly as her head fell to rest on Santana's shoulder, her teeth nipping at the woman's collarbone before soothing it with a kiss. The first kiss she'd given Santana, which felt a little wasteful, but it was just thrilling to touch her. To taste her.

"I'm good at it." Santana replied, her voice still smoky and smooth, her dark predatory gaze focusing on Rachel's lips. "And ladies like you always leave me going home with a smile on my face."

"Why?" She asked as Santana ground her body against hers, the friction sending a shiver down her spine that was soothed by Santana's hands slowly raking down her back, the pleasant pressure releasing a loud, wanton moan that would be embarrassing if the girl on her lap wasn't Santana. The only girl she'd ever felt true lust for in her life, the only girl she'd lived out fantasies with in songs about kissing girls, cheating on respective partners with each other, and so forth. The only girl she'd routinely touch whenever possible back in their days in New York together.

It felt so wrong to act out those fantasies now, given their situation, but she couldn't stop. Not yet.

"There's just something about people like you…so vocal, melodic and confident. It's so fucking erotic." Santana's answer drew a gasp that quickly became a moan as the dancer lowered herself on Rachel's thigh; Santana felt positively soaked and molten, and for once, the woman's words matched her actions. The former HBIC was wet, because of her, because Santana wanted her.

The surprisingly shy laugh that escaped Santana brought her attention back to the woman, thinking it might be an act, but it was clear that she was embarrassed. It was rare that Santana's blushing was ever visible, and even under the low lighting, she could see those cheeks were rosy.

"Maybe once a year, I'll come across someone like you that turns the tables on me, and I'M the one all hot and bothered." Santana murmured as she gazed intensely at Rachel, looking as if she was going to just ravage her at any given second. It was enthralling, and provided more than a small boost to her ego. "And that's not fair to you, is it, Broadway?"

Rachel shook her head at the sultry seductress, even if she was already pretty close to how Santana was currently faring, because she wanted more, and she wanted the chance to make the most of the 'private dance', especially since they'd only done heavy petting so far.

Santana's hands gripped Rachel and gently rotated their positions a few degrees and laid the diva down on the padded couch, Santana quickly resuming her straddling of the singer's hips.

"Isn't this…isn't this against the rules?" Rachel asked, feeling a little shocked that their session was taking such a turn so quickly.

"I only do private dances for the fairer sex, Broadway, and the best ones get an all access pass. Bosses like it if I look a little sexed up, even if I'm hot enough as is." Santana explained with that cocky smirk of hers in place, yet it wasn't infuriating or annoying as it had been in the past. With Santana straddling her, soft tan hands scraping lightly over her abs repeatedly, and that damn smirk on her swollen red lips, Rachel instead felt an all-consuming desire to just take Santana.

Yet even that seemed entirely surreal, though, because Santana had never shown any interest. So she allowed a little hesitation to guide her for the moment, something Santana seemed to notice. "So how's it gonna be…you good with me on top, serving your every need, Miss Berry? Or…would you prefer to have your way with me?"

To say she was stupefied by Santana openly discussing the terms of their engagement would have been a severe understatement, her dumbfounded silence bringing the dancer to just assume it was alright that she top her. As if it was natural for Santana Lopez to have sexual relations with one Rachel Berry. It seemed unbelievable that Santana not only wanted to have sex with her, but was actively pursuing it!

It was near the tail end of that confusion when Santana pulled her head up, crashing their lips together into a heady kiss that once more had her reeling. Rachel's head spun from dizziness as Santana's tongue explored her mouth, the dancer's desperate hands hastily pulling the zipper of the diva's dress down enough to somehow slide it off of her with only minimal effort. Santana wasted no time in putting her hands to work on Rachel's newly naked breasts, her forefinger and thumb wielding witchcraft against her nipples as Santana's mouth slid from the diva's slips to her neck and resumed her tireless work against the ravaged column of flesh.

Free of Santana's kiss, Rachel panted to catch her breath, her hips matching the small movements of Santana's thigh, giving her the delicious friction she craved, even if she knew her old friend could give her more. More than a thigh, at least. It was ridiculous how aroused she was, and how quickly that arousal had occurred, but she could hardly care when every point of contact Santana was making was driving her headlong toward a climax. Each touch so firm and passionate, but so precise and tender that it took her breath away; Rachel refused outright the idea of Santana treating other customers this way. It just seemed too impossible, too intimate. Too familiar.

It's when Santana's hand traveled into previously uncharted territory to cup Rachel's wet, swollen heat that she snapped out of her blissfully confusing thoughts, just in time to hear a deliciously content whimper against her neck. Knowing she was too far gone now to not give it her all, Rachel quickly reached a hand down under the girl's lingerie and slammed two fingers into Santana, the heel of her hand rubbing up against the girl's clit.

Santana bucking against her hand was like a drug, and she needed to feel more; Rachel needed to feel Santana unravel around her, and on her second thrust, Santana's primal cry and painful bite into her shoulder only spurred her onward. The lightly muttered Spanish curses? They were a bonus more precious to her the louder they got, and she was hell-bent on hearing the woman sing out her climax.

Her hand roughly fucked Santana as she raked her free hand up and down Santana's back, while the dancer's precise, careful motions against her clit had Rachel feeling as if she were about to fall apart or at least lose the use of her lower half. Each skilled effort from Santana had her on the precipice of blacking out, but it was Santana's needy whimpers, the desperate writhing of the dancer's body atop her, that kept her conscious and focused enough to give back as much as she was getting. Rachel felt on top of the world, and even if it hadn't been two years since she last had sex, there was nothing in her history of sexual partners that compared to what was happening with Santana. Nothing, and that both frightened and thrilled her.

She had planned on talking Santana out of the profession, or at least arranging a meeting outside of the woman's work. Instead, they were both on the cusp of orgasms, and she was absolutely too intoxicated with Santana to stop.

Santana's head finally shifted up from her thoroughly devoured neck, the woman's cheek resting against Rachel's own. "God, I've never been this wet in my life!" Santana husked out, sounding the epitome of desperation and lust as the woman ground into her relentlessly, her pace escalating to meet Rachel's. "You're gonna make me cum so hard…claim me, baby!"

Despite being fully aware that her weakness was getting her ego stroked, it felt amazing to hear those words come from Santana's lips. Letting out a grunt, Rachel thrust in a third finger and flipped their positions on the couch, giving Rachel extra leverage to fuck Santana into oblivion, and room to latch her mouth to the woman's previously unravaged breasts. And god were they worth the wait.

Santana bucked and writhed like a beast beneath her, loud moans and shuddering cries being torn from her as Rachel pumped roughly into the dancer's core, curling her fingers just right so that all the woman could do was meet her thrusts frantically and more desperately.

Rachel's heart felt as if it would beat out of her chest from the excitement and arousal of watching and feeling Santana come apart underneath her, but when the dancer began to seize, her back arching and inner walls clamping fiercely and deliciously against her digits, Rachel knew it was all worth it.

Her thrusts slowed, letting the woman ride out her orgasm on her own pace, Santana just blindly grabbing at Rachel, her eyes glassy and unfocused as they both panted heavily, trying to catch their breath. She couldn't help but smile as she watched her friend beneath her; no, she hadn't fucked her into unconsciousness, but Santana being disoriented was oddly more satisfying on top of being somewhat adorable.

Sure, Rachel was still entirely aroused, but she'd exerted nearly all her energy taking Santana, and felt content to flop down on top of the woman and have a well-earned rest. However, one of Santana's hands shot to her chest as she went to lie down, keeping the diva straddling the dancer.

Santana, still looking a little out of it, shuffled herself down the couch, shifting Rachel up a bit enough for the dancer to slide further under her. She couldn't help but feel a little confused at the movement, especially when Santana began kissing her thighs, the woman's lips so unreasonably soft and tender against her sensitive flesh, her hands patiently worshipping her abs and her hips. As if Rachel hadn't basically screwed the girl into the couch not even a minute ago.

She let herself enjoy the reprieve, catching her breath before realizing that it was likely a good time to talk. However, just a glimpse down at the, dare she say, adoring smile on Santana's face quickly put a hold on that plan in favour of the care that the woman was subjecting her to.

Eventually, Santana's hands found Rachel's hips, calmly massaging the soft flesh as the dancer peered up at her intently. "I want you to ride my tongue."

Seven words brought any dormant arousal back to the forefront, as just the thought of being in the position had her physically unsteady; she'd been close prior to flipping Santana over and finishing her off before, so it wasn't a surprise to know she was right on the edge.

"You really want to taste me?" She asked quietly; none of her boyfriends had ever gone down on her, and her fuck-buddy lady friend hadn't been into oral either, so it wasn't exactly something she'd experienced before. It was a little nerve-racking. _What if I taste bad? That vegan meal I had at the restaurant earlier this evening was rather putrid! If I taste like that…_

"There's a reason I didn't put my fingers in you, Broadway. You deserve my tongue, something I almost never let anyone have." Santana purred, her cheek resting against Rachel's inner thigh as if it was a childhood home it had returned to. Not that Rachel was experienced in the area in the least, but she thought sex workers were supposed to be aggressive, fairly impersonal and stereotypical, as well as lacking in affection. Yet, Santana, the entire time, had been passionate, affectionate, and was both careful and mindful in everything she did; it was entirely different than what was probably normal, and she couldn't help but wonder what was going on.

Still, just hearing the sense of exclusivity in what Santana had planned for her had pushed back her 'talk' a little further, her body absolutely thrumming with arousal at the thoughts of Santana's head between her legs.

As she lowered herself slightly, Santana's mouth began licking and nipping at the tender flesh of her inner thighs; honestly, she almost wanted to just push the woman's head further up from impatience, but she couldn't deny that the teasing was delicious. Rachel had, after a bit of sexual experience, realized that she indeed was all about the teasing, even if she was also all about the pleasing as well. It was odd to think that Santana had likely manipulated Rachel earlier, and was doing so again in hopes of likely being ridden hard by her. The idea of Santana tapping into her personal kinks so effortlessly after so many years between them sounded absurd in her head, but it just seemed natural to the dancer.

Eventually, Santana's lips blazed a path and her tongue traced a line up her swollen, gleaming folds, her body desperately yearning for release. And then suddenly, Santana's tongue was inside her, as thumb worked her clit, and it all felt like magic. Her hips bucked into the grinning dancer between her thighs, tiny bursts of hot breath driving her wild as Santana's tongue thrust into her, curving and twisting in seemingly unnatural ways that had her body feeling like a pressure cooker ready to burst with sheer desire.

Rachel was pretty sure she was being rather loud as moans and cries were stolen from her through Santana's efforts, but all that was on her mind was that Santana's tongue was suddenly doing the wave and then some unknowable movement. All the air in her lungs evacuated her body as she shook in place, tan hands holding her firmly in place and upright as wave after wave of orgasm tore through her, her hands holding a raven-haired head in place and she rocked into the still present tongue to carry her blissful release onward until she was unable to continue.

Feeling dizzy and weightless, it took a moment to realize eventually that she was slowly being eased back down to the couch; Rachel was curious for a moment before recognizing Santana's face, reality rushing back to her. Which, in turn, helped her realize that Santana's entire face was covered in…well…her. Her juices.

Rachel watched intently as Santana brought fingers up to her own face and wiped off some of the evidence of what the woman had done to her. But instead of wiping it on the couch, which looked easy to clean, her friend brought wet, glistening fingers into her mouth, sucking and licking them clean. Rachel wasn't sure she'd ever felt so sexy in her life, and it was nearly enough to bring upon another orgasm.

She couldn't help but whimper intermittently as Santana cleaned her face off bit by bit, frustrated that the woman wasn't touching her, and frustrated that she hadn't tasted Santana. Feeling a little needy, she took hold of the raven haired beauty's face and brought their lips together, trying to express the passion she felt for the woman, her thanks for the dancer's tenderness and care, and to just try and get as much of her friend while she could. Santana's hand threading through her hair didn't even bother her; in truth, it was a welcome, soothing gesture that only warmed her heart more toward her long lost friend.

"Why didn't you tell me where you went?" She blurted out as their lips parted from each others', desperately in need of oxygen. It might not have been the most tactful or timely question, but it had been on her mind, and she truly desired an answer. The years of not being able to reach the woman had hurt tremendously, and it had taken years to overcome that loss. She wasn't about to let Santana go without at least an answer to that.

A tan hand cupped her face, wiping away a tear track Rachel hadn't realized she'd let spill. "Mi amorcito, I'm not sure if it's the alcohol that's making me look like some long lost friend…" Santana started, earning an immediate pout from the diva, who just desperately wanted an answer, for once. "…but if it is, I'd teach this Santana girl a thing or two about letting someone like you out of her life."

The remark was affectionate, cute, and familiar to Santana's old style of compliments; it drew a smile from Rachel, but it didn't change that she needed more. It was her biggest flaw, she always wanted things too much.

"You can always call me?" Rachel asked, reaching for her purse and pulling out one of her business cards, neatly tucking it under Santana's lingerie. Yet, as she did so, she noticed the top of an odd-looking tattoo, freezing her hands in place, and prompting Santana to take a step back.

The smirk gracing the woman's lips was almost the same cocky smirk as before, but Rachel could see through it to the sheer nervous roiling through her friend. "You know where to find me, Broadway. I'm here Thursday night through Saturday night if you're up for some more of this." Santana stated, grabbing some facial wipes from a container in the corner of the room and returning with a small stack for her. Rachel took a few and began to clean herself up as much as possible, taking that time to realize that Santana's lingerie wasn't sheer like many of the other workers'. She hadn't really gotten a good look at what all was going on down there, so while Santana's back was turned, Rachel sneakily came up behind the dancer and hugged her waist.

"Please at least meet me for coffee." Rachel pleaded, moving her hands down to grab the girl's panties before Santana could react. "Here, I'll help you clean up."

"No, just…" Santana started to say, but Rachel quickly slid the offending lingerie down, revealing a rather specific, ornate tattoo that had blood rushing to her face at unparalleled speeds. There, on Santana's right butt-cheek, was a heart shaped out of a multitude berries, with a music note piercing it, certainly a play on the old heart and cupid's arrow cliché.

It brought numerous unanswerable questions to Rachel's newly hazy mind, and she didn't know how to make them just be quiet, just for a moment. Santana spun around with a frightened expression marring her beautiful features, and while that only added yet another problem to the mix, it was one that took precedence.

Her body shifted forward across the room, slowly closing the distance between her and a nearly naked Santana who looked as if she were fearful of murder. When in reach, she took one of those familiar tan hands, reveling in the fact that it felt the same after all these years. With another step forward, she reached for Santana's waist and pulled her close until their bodies collided gently. This side of the room, Rachel realized, just really had a chair, so she shifted them a step to the side and plopped down onto it, bringing an entirely tense Santana with her, the both of them squeezing in there together.

"You have no idea how much I missed you." She whispered, cuddling into the taller girl, their proximity drowning out all the torrents of questions in her head for the moment. "I needed you."

"It's been…you can't just say that, Rachel." Santana muttered, her voice straining under a weight Rachel was now beginning to understand.

"I still need you, Santana." She retorted softly, nuzzling the girl's cheek, only to draw a frustrated growl.

"Berry, you never knew what you did to me before, but now? Fuck, you can't seriously be…" Santana began, Rachel's lips silencing her and swallowing her words, needing to feel Santana again, needing her former roommate to realize what she felt for so long.

Rachel pecked Santana's lips with a fleeting chaste kiss as she pulled back, maintaining the silence between them both for an extra few seconds. "I may not have, but it didn't mean you weren't equally oblivious about how I was around you." She confessed quietly, peering back into Santana's deep brown eyes. "When you came to the loft for Christmas that first year, it was like a sign. I asked you to move in not just because I enjoyed your company and wanted to be your friend, San."

"W…what? Why'd you ask, then? I mean, you were seriously drunk off your ass, but you always wanted to be friends with me." Santana noted, sounding about as confused and cautious as expected. Rachel gripped Santana tighter in hopes that the girl would rush away from her answer.

"I wanted to get you away from Brittany. I wanted to show you I wasn't a child, that I was a grown, desirable woman. And I wanted to help you…Brittany had you going to school before you had any direction, and I knew better. I wanted to be the girl you came to when you were angry after work, or when you wanted to hang out and watch Netflix reruns of Gilmore Girls, or when it was cold in the living room because the furnace wasn't working, and you needed a warm bed to sleep in. Most of all, I wanted you to be with me, but…well…that didn't exactly work out." She rambled, Santana's body losing a little tension, but not a comfortable amount. She didn't even need a verbal response to know that Santana was skeptical.

"I respected what you and Brittany had, and then by the time I felt confident enough to do anything about it, you were crushing on Dani. And when you grabbed the understudy role…I couldn't bear the thought of being around you every day for so long and not being able to kiss you or hold you or tell you how I felt. So I…I blew up on you. And you ran into Brittany's arms, and even when you came back from your vacation, broken up with her AND Dani…you only came back for a few nights before you left for good." She clarified, just needing Santana to understand, needing her to know she was sincere. Needing Santana to just touch her in return, for god's sake!

"Fuck." Santana muttered, which despite being underwhelming, was predictable. Still, Santana's arms lightly squeezing her in return was enough to have Rachel beaming.

"So…why the mystery alias around me? What was the point of that?" Rachel asked, though her grin faded as Santana looked away, her eyes downcast, a familiar expression of regret and pain marring her face. It took her brain a few seconds to catch up before she gave the girl's shoulder a light smack. "Santana Lopez! You did not just try to make love to me as if it was the last time it would ever happen instead of talking to me like a proper adult!"

Santana winced a little and took hold of Rachel's hands, leaning back into the diva and ensuring there wouldn't be any more smacking of arms or wrestling. "Just because I have a tattoo of some berries on my ass, doesn't mean I'm in love with you."

"No, but you DID make love to me, San. I felt it. I felt you, and I'm trying to tell you that that doesn't need to end here. We…I can make you happy, Santana. We can start fresh, reconnect." She pleaded, earning a look of utter disbelief from her former roommate.

"Rachel, you're a star. Like…on Broadway, and you've got a summer blockbuster coming out soon. Last year you won your second Tony, and the year before that your first Oscar. I'm just…" Santana started, Rachel's gaze offering a stern warming to be careful with her language, because she honestly wasn't going to have Santana putting herself down. "Look, I actually like my job most of the time. I get brought to the girls that come in, and I don't have to deal with guys all that often. It's a sweet deal, and I'm paid fantastically, and my boss is this awesome and hilarious elderly Turkish woman who takes zero shit from anyone. Including her daughter who mostly runs the place, but she's cool too. So I don't mind it here, but I'm basically a stripper who has some services that can be bought. I'd ruin your career, Rachel."

The thought was rather realistic, in that dating a stripper was indeed a dangerous social move for a celebrity. However, Rachel wasn't about to be deterred. "My career will be fine, Santana. I've won a number of awards, my reputation has recovered since my initial handling of Funny Girl, and if anyone asked why I was dating you, all we'd need to do is a duet to show our impeccable chemistry together."

"And if they found out about me? Like, I've stocked up enough money to DJ and produce music and stuff comfortably enough for a while, but I'll have history here." Santana asked, as if the answer wasn't a remarkably easy one.

"I'll applaud your sex positivity and your progressive employer's policies so that you could stay safe, happy and healthy on the job, allowing you to save money to chase your dream. Seems like good memoir material to me." She responded with a big grin, happy to see the hesitation on Santana's face was gone, even if it was replaced with more worry. "Now we should go get back to the table, I'm sure my friends think I've abandoned them by now."

Santana chuckled at that, knowing it'd been quite some time since they'd left the group. However, as Santana rose to get out of the chair, Rachel took Santana's hand and placed a key in it. The taller woman looked down at the foreign object, and then back to Rachel questioningly.

"It's a key to my home, with the address. If you can't stay the night, I'd at least like to see you come by for lunch." Rachel added with a smile, hoping that they could get something started between them fairly quickly.

Santana nodded and then looked toward the door. "So…when we get out there, is it business as usual, or am I your old friend Santana?"

Rachel just got out of the chair, planting a quick kiss to the other woman's cheek in the process. "It's whatever you'd like. They're all close friends with tight lips, and if you spent the rest of the night on my lap, I wouldn't be opposed."

With that, Santana's devilish smirk returned, and Rachel knew that despite the late hour, it would be a long, long night. Yet, despite that, Rachel knew she had a much happier future ahead of her. Still wouldn't be married by the time she was thirty, but maybe before she hit thirty-one. A berry-themed heart tattoo on one's soon-to-be-girlfriend's bum had her hopes rather high that they could have something special together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewrote this three times that week, and I'm still to this day not super fond of this one, if just for the pacing, but eh. It was fun enough. Hope you enjoyed!


	10. Pezberry Week '14: Teacher-Student

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana’s enjoying a lazy night inside after over three straight weeks without a night off from her jobs, when Rachel comes by asking for some advice, leaving Santana to struggle between being a good friend and listening to her heart.

Santana was in a state of indulgent bliss; it was a Sunday night, she was on her couch, watching a marathon of 'Dogs with Jobs', and she had a pizza on the coffee table and a pint of ice-cream in the freezer. Inexplicably, between the waitressing and the lounge singing she'd been doing, she'd worked twenty three straight days, and was thrilled to be able to just have a relaxing night in for a change. It wasn't as if she wouldn't work off all the calories within a few days, anyway, and she hadn't treated herself food-wise in a long time.

Honestly, the last time had been during her vacation with Brittany about four months ago, which seemed like forever ago, making her wonder how Britt was doing up in Montréal with Cirque de Soleil. It hadn't been long after they'd returned that she and Britt had both realized they were better off friends, and ever since then, she'd pretty much had their hole in the wall apartment to herself, given the blonde had left for Canada barely a week after their mutual decision. It made sense; Britt was a free spirit and was born to dance, and even keeping her in New York would have been chaining her down. This WAS the girl who, at twelve, had somehow bought bus tickets to the west coast during a drought because she thought she was the only one who could prevent forest fires.

Not that it didn't suck sometimes for Santana that she came home to an empty apartment all the time, but it was her reality, and the fact that she was making progress toward her dream made up for it. Helping Mercedes get her groove back with her album was enough of a push to get Santana to realize she had a song in her heart that she had to chase. And so, with the extra tip money she made after paying off rent, food and utilities, she'd save up for recording equipment of her own, and spend her breaks at work scribbling song ideas down in her notebook. It was kind of thrilling, even if she hadn't made a hell of a lot of progress in that area yet; Santana Lopez had a goal now, and as far as she was concerned, she was going to be damn unstoppable in achieving it. Well, probably. Hopefully.

Midway through the third episode of the marathon, just as Santana was wondering about maybe getting one of those insanely ridiculous corgis, there was a knock at her door. Which, really, was rare as fuck, so she was both confused and annoyed. This was her night off, and if her manager from the lounge had sent Harriet to her place as a messenger to tell her to come into work, she was going to kill someone. Sadly, probably the messenger.

Letting out a frustrated huff, Santana got off the couch and tromped over to the door. It was nine o' clock at night, and there were like six more hours of quality TV to go. Putting on her best HBIC stone-bitch face, she swung the door open, only to have her expression falter because Rachel was at her door.

"Good evening, Santana." The diva noted cheerfully, looking way too cute in her red pea coat for Santana to be too mad about the unscheduled intrusion. "May I come in?"

Santana stepped to the side, giving her friend enough room to step in, wondering exactly what brought Berry to her side of the tracks. Not that Bushwick was actually all that far away, but still. Travel was travel. Normally it was her that visited the more populated loft, because it housed Rachel, Kurt, Sam and Blaine, and it was closer to Mercedes' flat at well; her old home was the hangout spot, and so sometimes she'd pop by. There was never really any reason for people to visit Santana, being all the way out in Kew Gardens. That was a hell of a commute, what with it being about an hour of transit and walking, or twenty-five by cab. So Berry going out of her way to see her was curious to say the least.

As Rachel hung up her coat and took off her shoes, Santana went for a refill of water, knowing Berry probably had something she wanted to talk about, and she'd end up having to say a bunch of stuff back. It was regrettable, because it was her only day off, and she just kind of wanted to quietly watch a show about a dog named Popsicle who sniffed for drugs at the border.

"Thirsty, Rachel?" She asked, pulling a second cup from the kitchen cabinets in advance, knowing the answer would be yes. There was rarely a point in time, at least when she lived with the diva, where Rachel didn't have some sort of drink nearby when at home.

"Thank you, Santana. I appreciate…umm, Santana? Are you watching a show about…dogs? Why is that dog herding deer?" The diva asked, her attention momentarily distracted by the television.

"The badass herds, like, a thousand deer each day. Too bad its name is so dumb…who names their dog Huntaway Steam? Like, seriously? Even Popsicle is a better name." Santana answered, carrying both drinks back over to her comfy spot on the couch and plopping herself down on it. Rachel could visit, and they could talk, but her pizza was there, and so were the dogs with crazy freaking jobs. Santana knew the importance of making the most of her free time, after all.

Rachel shook her head and sat down beside her. "I'm just going to nod my head and pretend I understand what you're referencing." Berry noted, still confused for some weird reason. Not like it was a hard thing to grasp; there were dogs with jobs, and one's name was Popsicle. Easy peasy.

"Anyway, you never just drop by unannounced, so what's up? Don't tell me you need Auntie Snixx to kick someone's ass…" Santana spoke, her voice trailing off as she gave Rachel a questioning look; she knew Berry was a something of a pacifist and would draw the whole thing out for a while unless she could discern the truth. Luckily, Berry had never been a good liar, but the diva didn't react at all.

"No need to get your hands dirty, Santana, though I do appreciate your willingness to defend me." Rachel stated wryly, though sincerely, because damn right she'd defend Berry, and the diva knew it. As Santana had confessed on a number of occasions, she was a hardcore friend, and if that meant unleashing Snixx on an unsuspecting threat to her people, then so be it. "I actually could use some advice, if you can spare the time and be discreet?"

Santana gave a short nod, knowing she wasn't always the best person to go to for that sort of thing, but that she definitely had her moments. "Shoot. Though if this is about that ridiculous TV pilot, you already know my opinion."

Rachel squirmed on the couch beside her, and Santana counted down from ten, knowing if it was a guilty squirm, the diva would take a drink from her glass by then. When she didn't, and Rachel still hadn't responded, she assumed it was just nerves. So she waited it out while nibbling on some slowly cooling pizza, knowing the diva would eventually compile all the right, specific words that were needed eventually.

"There's a girl I like." Rachel's prepared speech had been much shorter than expected, and more devastating than she probably would have allowed herself to believe until that moment. If Santana were to be honest, she'd harboured something of a crush for the shorter girl for a long time, and while Brittany's life goals and personality just clashed with where she was growing toward, her feelings for Berry had been a fair part of why they'd split. And really, why she'd dumped Dani to escape Rachel in hopes that she and Britt would work out.

So hearing that Rachel was into a girl? Fantastic. Hearing the insinuation that it wasn't her? That was like taking a wrecking-ball of disappointment to the face. Still, she masked her surprise and melancholy and held a neutral expression, giving the girl a reassuring nod. Because Santana Lopez was a hardcore friend, and if Berry wanted to woo some other woman, she'd help. Of course, she'd also screen the girl something serious to make sure she was good enough and not a heinous mouth-breathing bitch, but Rachel didn't need to know that. Not yet, at least.

"Okay. Not anything weird about that. Women are wanky as hell." She willed herself to force out, because Berry was taking way too long to continue, and Santana needed to keep things rolling along. "You need advice on how to make the first move?"

The shake of Rachel's head had her a little confused, because if she didn't need advice about that, then what for? And did that mean Berry already had some history getting her mack on with the fairer sex? Definitely questions she wanted answers to.

"No, but the girl I like, she has…well, a certain uncommon hobby. And while we share a fair bit in common and seem to get along swimmingly, it would be putting it lightly to say I'm hesitant to look into a relationship with her, because I'm not sure I'll be able to meet her needs." Rachel explained, which let Santana know that Berry and the mystery girl had probably been dating for a while now. Though it was odd that the diva was worried about what she could offer. After Brody, and after Finn's death, she and Kurt had helped Rachel recover and gain a stronger sense of self respect and self-worth. To hear Berry questioning that was a concern, a red flag of sorts.

"Well, that's bullcrap, you don't have to share every one of her hobbies, Rachel. If she's got more brains than a slug, she'll totes understand that. But still…what's she into that's got you coming all the way here to ask me?" She asked, curious as to what could possibly have Berry off her game. Over the past few months, Rachel had done a lot of maturing, and it had been awesome to watch; sure, they lived apart, but it wasn't like they didn't Skype all the time. Whatever.

Rachel sighed loudly and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she cupped her full face. "Please don't make a big deal out of this. Please." Santana heard the diva ask, her voice muffled by the hands covering her face.

"Not gonna lie, I might laugh a bit if it's really crazy, but I won't make fun of you or anything. At least, not until you're like, thirty and we're all bringing up old stories." Santana remarked with a teasing smile, hoping to lighten the mood, because they were friends, there really shouldn't have been any worries about her handling things badly.

However, the words spoken after Rachel's heavy sigh nearly proved those worries right. "She's into BDSM, and that's…kind of scary for me."

Santana was pretty sure she sucked a gasp through immediately clenched teeth, glad that Rachel's face was still buried in her hands and couldn't see her reaction, because it'd be damn hard hiding that. To put it plain, it fucking hurt. The girl she liked, who she thought was straight, liked another girl who shared one of Santana's major hobbies. She swore that if the girl Berry was after was also a Latina with a quick wit, fiery temper and halfway as attractive as she was, the friendship wing-woman rule would go out the window. She'd cut a bitch. Sure, Santana would apologize to Rachel later, but it wouldn't stop her from exiling the doppelganger.

It just really, really sucked. It already hurt that Rachel hadn't shared her sexuality with her, and that Berry liked some other lady, but for her to also be into BDSM? After some of the very memorable bondage themed dreams she'd had of Rachel? So unfair. _But, I'm…I'm just her friend, her BEST friend, so…so I'll try to help. I'll give it a goddamn try, and I won't promise not to cut a bitch, but I'll help…_

"Well, I mean, alright. I assume you heard through the proverbial grapevine that I know some shit about this?" She asked, prompting Rachel to lift her head away from her hands and nod, her lower lip shaking a teensy bit. Rolling her eyes, she pulled the diva into her side and hugged her close, hoping it'd make her bestie feel better. "I will find out who told you, and I'm going to flay them when I do, but yeah, I can offer some advice, I guess. I mean, I'm no weathered vet, but I know enough. What's she into?"

"I can't say for certain, but I believe she's what is called a… a submissive?" Rachel asked hesitantly, her face scrunching a little in confusion. Again, her cuteness helped in easing the continually escalating frustration, but it really was getting to the point where Santana just wanted for her similarities with the mystery girl to stop. Because technically, she was a switch, but there was a preference for submission. Not that she was some pushover, needy bitch or anything; it was just cool to be able to prove herself worthy, have a nice place to let go sometimes, and know that everything would be taken care of. Sometimes by her, but usually by the domme. Especially with her recent stresses about her future career path, sometimes she just wanted to spend a few hours knowing exactly what was expected of her, having no control outside of a safe word, and losing the heavy responsibility she held in carrying two jobs to finance her needs, her future, and her friends at times. And hey, the sex was fun too.

"So what do you want to know, Berry? If she's a sub, you probably have an idea about what role is left vacant." Santana added, her lips curling downward as Rachel frowned, not understanding why her friend was so upset over this. BDSM wasn't rocket science, most of it was pretty easy to understand outside of the really technical stuff.

"Santana, I really… I really like her. I'm scared of messing things up because I won't be a good enough dominatrix. Heck, I'm not sure I could even do ANYTHING in BDSM." Rachel argued tearfully, her hands talking nearly as much as Berry's mouth, which was almost always fun to watch. The girl really was like a cartoon character sometimes with how animated she'd get.

Once Rachel got the words out of her system, Santana just hugged her closer, leaning the both of them up against the arm-rest. "Shhh. Don't be scared, Rach, you got this." She replied softly, the diva's head immediately spinning around to look at her, eyes brimming with tears and frustration that she just couldn't help but feel a mixture of weakness and determination from. "You've got me, Berry. And I promise you, after Miss Snixx runs you through the basics…you've got this. You don't need to worry."

Rachel wiped at her eyes, giving a slow nod as she leaned a little harder into Santana. Which, really, she was entirely cool with. "I take it you've done research already, right?" She asked, earning an inexplicable shake of the head from the girl lodged up against her like a parasite. It was insane, because Berry lived for research and lists and all that stuff. It was totally out of character for her to ditch that sort of thing. "Why not? Like…I mean, you could read it all online, why come to me about this?"

"I trust you to help me, and I don't trust Google with this. Not this." Berry whispered quietly, and the whole notion of Rachel trusting her more than Google in a matter pertaining to knowledge was mindblowing. It never happened. Ever. Google was practically Rachel's pagan idol, by how often she scoured it for answers to the most absurd things. So the trust she felt Rachel had in her was flattering as fuck, but it also was a little suffocating. She had to take a few seconds to calm her shit and get a mental handle on it all, because now she was flying solo.

Taking a deep breath in preparation for an uncharacteristically long bout of speaking, she steeled herself to any thoughts of Rachel in alluring positions. Santana knew she'd need clear thoughts to get through this properly. "Okay, so I guess I should start with the foundation of a BDSM relationship. Honestly, if you don't understand what BDSM is trying to accomplish, you're not going to understand what a sub and a domme are, let alone any of the other terms that are used."

"The core component in BDSM is consent. And not just any sort of consent, but enthusiastic consent. Without consent, and without both partners knowing exactly what they want, and what they have to offer each other, it gets unhealthy and likely abusive really quickly. Because the sub gives power to the domme through consent… it should never be taken. Outside of one-shot scenes with strangers at clubs, the relationship between the domme and the sub is more important than the BDSM aspect of it…healthy relationship, healthy communication, healthy play. And so the second core component is communication." Santana explained quietly as Rachel absentmindedly played with her fingers; it oddly enough wasn't distracting, but kind of calming to have the diva touch her like that while Rachel intently listened to every word that spilled from her mouth.

"Communication is insanely important…but don't get it in your head that there are always, or even usually, these big formal contracts or any of that nonsense you might have read stories about. I mean, if you wanted one, and your partner did too, you could always take that route, but it's not super common. Instead, it's just a whole lot of talking…talking about what you like, what you don't like, what you want, how you want it. And you won't learn everything all at once…things will come up along the way, too. But to start off, there are some things that are absolutely necessary before you start anything. Things like soft limits, which are things you could be open to in the future but can't handle right then, and hard limits, which are something you won't ever want to try, or something you don't ever see yourself wanting to try. And then there are things like fetishes, which can be absolutely essential to include in the scenes you both run, or which are simply a delightful flavour for either of you." She continued, earning a slightly cocked head and thoughtful look from berry throughout the spiel. Which, when she finished that part, turned into a slightly closed off nervous one, meaning Berry had a question. "Ask me, Rachel."

"That…that sounds a lot like making lists." Rachel mumbled, looking back up at Santana with a glimmer of hope in her eyes, because of course Berry would cling to the familiar. She expected that, and it was because of all the familiarities that she was sure Rachel would be totally fine.

"Which is why I told you that you got this. You can do your own lists, or use one of the many online checklists and surveys…they're pretty damn useful as a starting point for helping give each other an idea of your abilities, interests, and what you're willing to do. And I know you're good talking about that, I have from the time I lived with you and Lady Face." Santana responded, feeling happier when she could literally feel Rachel's relief ease the girl's body. It made for better cuddling, at least, and let her know her friend was feeling a bit more comfortable.

"Anyway, consent and communication are my big two…but without a lot of the more common sense stuff, it can all fall apart. So, like, BDSM is a fantasy. It's, unless you're rocking a 24/7 lifestyle bit, a fantasy-driven period of time. It shouldn't be something you rely on or need, because it's supposed to be fun, not a replacement for therapy. I mean, maybe a supplement to it, but never a replacement. If you or she have issues with yourselves and feel you need BDSM to function and shit, then that's not a good sign, and you shouldn't get into that stuff until the problems are dealt with." She continued, stopping as she could see yet another question in Berry's curious, big brown eyes. And it wasn't like she couldn't say no to them or anything, she just didn't WANT to.

Rachel shifted after a few seconds of silence and plopped herself on Santana's lap, her back resting against the armrest, giving her a better ability to look at Santana than before. "So you're saying that people can have breaks? That if I were to be a…a domme…that I wouldn't have to live that role all the time?"

Santana shook her head and took a few moments to compile a good response to Rachel. And maybe those seconds were also spent feeling happy that Rachel's arms were wrapping around her neck. "Again, it's all about communicating your terms and expectations. Most people prefer single scenes, and usually schedule them. Which, again, is something you're fantastic at doing. So if you had a busy week and only had so many free hours, you could try and schedule a few sessions in on your free time, maybe do a little warming up session in a cab together if you're traveling back to your place for the full deal. That way, you transition into your roles a little organically. And maybe you get a week off, magically, and want to spend it all playing your roles, and your partner agrees. There's flexibility in there."

Rachel's shy smile was a delight to see, as was the rosy blush on Berry's cheeks. "I do have a rather high aptitude for planning. So there's no set restrictions on what happens when, and how the events happen?"

"Nope, so long as you don't breach any of your partner's limits, and so long as you respect your safe words, which you can use at any time to stop or leave the session." Santana clarified, going on to tell Rachel all about other basics like etiquette, cleanliness, and patience, none of which Berry seemed to have any issue comprehending. After a quick run down of the dynamics of a relationship between a domme and a sub, and the many well known variances, and getting Rachel's sincere response that she would not share her mystery girl, it was time to get to the specific roles.

"So, I won't focus too much on what subs do yet, because you really should hear that from the girl you like. They'll know better than me what kind of sub they are, and you don't need me feeding you too much info on that and potentially making you misread the girl's intentions because you took something I said for granted." Santana noted seriously, needing Rachel to focus on herself at the moment, because questions about subs right then weren't super relevant. And they would probably only cause Santana a little more heartbreak and maybe cause her sanity to take a dip.

"I suppose that's fair. Like in acting, I need to know my character before I need to know my counterparts, even if I'm aware of the scenes and lines I share with them beforehand." Rachel noted hesitantly, though her speech picked up near the end as she became sure in her words. It was nice to see the familiar Berry confidence starting to show, and she couldn't help but offer a content smile as a sort of thumbs up for the analogy.

"Exactly. So…" Santana began, only to have a solid idea pop into her head. Well, perhaps it was a bit of a risqué idea, but it was an idea that could help sell the points she needed to make. "Actually, can we head to my room? It'll be easier to explain there."

Rachel nodded and clambered off Santana, the taller girl quickly leading the diva into her little sanctuary. It wasn't a big room, because her apartment simply wasn't very big at all, but it was hers. She knelt at her bedside and pulled out a large black briefcase from under her bed and popped it open, her eyes scanning her toys and equipment.

"Is that…?" Rachel started to ask, only to peer closely at the collection over her shoulder, the girl's delicate hands resting on Santana's right shoulder.

"My personal collection. It's not much, but it's something." She noted indifferently, because it really wasn't at all impressive. That shit was expensive, and Santana really didn't have the coin for it. She pulled two smallish silk scarves from her box and left it open, knowing Rachel would get curious. "Keep in mind that I'm only doing this because you're my best friend, and I trust the hell out of you, okay?"

"What are we doing exactly?" Rachel asked, standing still by the briefcase as Santana got onto the bed and crawled over to the headboard.

Santana gestured for the diva to come closer before getting on all fours and tying one of her hands around the steel wire posts in her headboard, leaving a little room for movement, ensuring they weren't too tight, before looking back at Rachel. "Please tie my other hand up."

Rachel's hands were shaky even before the diva reached the offered scarf, but they got even more unsteady while Berry tied her other hand up. "Thank you, Rachel."

Now, it definitely wasn't every day that she verbally and literally thanked Rachel, so the surprise on Berry's face was expected. However, it seemed to chill the diva out a bunch, so she felt like she had a good read on how things would progress. "If I may ask, what was the purpose in getting tied up, Santana? It's not as if we're doing a scene right now…are we?"

"We're not, no, but this will help get across the power dynamic, because it's something you kind of need to experience instead of just me explaining it to you." Santana answered, her head forward and facing her headboard and wall. "Right now, I'm restrained, mostly. I can't move from the bed, or really from this position, and I pretty much can't see you unless you decide to move to where you allow me to see you. Whereas, you can move around freely, you can leave the room if you'd like, and take a shower, or have a snack. I wouldn't be able to stop it. You could dig around in my toy box and find something you'd like to use, and I wouldn't be able to know what it was or when it was coming. You could touch me anywhere you wanted to. You, right now, are in a position of power over me." Santana stated calmly and slowly, knowing that some of what she'd said would likely put Rachel on edge, and maybe freak her out a little, given the context of their discussion. Not that she thought it inherently made Rachel uncomfortable; Santana just didn't think Rachel would really know what to do with that power.

"Are…are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, I don't want you to be uncomfortable, Santana." Rachel asked, predictably worrying about her. It was nice to hear, if a bit unnecessary at the moment.

"I've been in this position before, but naked, and with an acquaintance. I'm clothed, at home, and you're my best friend. I'm totes comfy with where I am, Rachel. I'm just making you aware of the more obvious power imbalance here. One that I could, if working within the context of a scene, nullify with a safe word. But until that possibility comes true, you would have the power to do what you will. And that, Rachel, means you need to know how to handle that power. Good thing is, I know you can." Santana noted, hoping to reassure the diva, who she could hear moving around the room, seemingly pacing, though at a thankfully slow pace. Basically, it meant that Berry was thinking, and ready to absorb everything Santana would end up dishing out.

"Okay…okay. So dommes control the situation, the scene. But…how? I mean, while I am certainly receptive to the idea of taking the role…it really does seem appealing in a number of ways…I don't want to be super scary. I could do that in a movie or play, but I don't think I would will myself to be ferocious and mean to a partner of mine, especially one I might be romantically involved with." Rachel's concerns were pretty much expected, though definitely welcome; it showed that the diva was taking it all very seriously, and putting a lot of thought into where she fit in the equation.

Santana let herself sink down a little closer, using her elbows to stack her pillows on top of each other to allow herself something of a head-rest. She turned her head, facing her night-table, and laid her head down a bit, reducing the strain on her neck. "You don't have to be scary. That's the stereotype, and it honestly might be what your partner would like you to be, but you can be different. There are a lot of different types of domes…it's honestly up to you how you want to run it."

"Dommes play the opposite role of the sub. Subs tend to want to give up control and responsibility and just let themselves be free in the care or service of another, someone who, if they prove worthy, can let them feel pleasure in ways that they maybe can't shame themselves for like they usually could, due to it being out of their control. The dominant, here, desires control and responsibility, they want to set the rules and run the session, and accomplish the needs of the sub and their own needs in a way that provides them both with the most satisfying result. They want success. And many want their sub to have the best sexual experience possible, and know it was all because of them. And that sexual experience isn't accomplished through one specific type of domme…any type of domme can accomplish it, theoretically."

Santana let Rachel sit there for a while, her words hopefully sinking in. The thick silence lasted nearly a full two minutes according to the alarm clock on her night-stand. "That all does sound rather alluring." Berry spoke, her voice low and husky and goddamn sexy as fuck. She grinned, having a good idea at what Rachel had spent time thinking about over those hundred and twenty seconds. "Would you like that?"

The question nearly had Santana's throat betraying her, a moan almost slipping out before it was stifled. Because hell yes, she did, but Berry had a mystery girl, and she needed Rachel to focus. But first, as her thoughts cleared up, she realized she'd probably misinterpreted Rachel. "I prefer subbing, myself, but I've switched in the past when I needed to. It's not something I'm uncomfortable with, I just don't like it as much. Having someone take that control from me, inflict some corporal punishment when I've been bad, plan out my route to orgasm or how I'd give her one…that's my favourite stuff."

"I…Santana, I don't want to hurt her. I mean, if she asks me to, I will. If it's needed I will do it, but I'd rather take care of her needs in a…well, nicer way." Rachel spoke, and Santana had to shut her eyes from the clenching her heart was doing because goddamn it, she recognized that tone of voice. She knew it well from years of being in that choir room; Rachel was in love, and she wanted to love this girl in all the ways she could, and make her happy in every way possible. It was one thing that attracted her to Berry; neither of them did anything in half-measures, and she respected the lengths Berry was willing to go to, even if some were a little unhealthy. Still, she was pretty sure that was just teenage immaturity talking. "How can I reconcile that viciousness with …with wanting to love her?"

Just hearing the words nearly strangled Santana, but she bit the inside of her cheek and pushed forward, needing to get it over with. "Well, I'd…I'd talk to your mystery girl about this all, you know. Because she'd know best what she'd need. But it's totally possible…you can…you can be a loving domme, you know." Santana choked out, hoping it sounded like she just had a dry throat or something, because she really didn't want Rachel catching on to her feelings right then and potentially feeling guilty. Berry didn't deserve that. "It's okay to not be a sadist…it's not a necessity for being a domme."

"But…how does that even work? I'd still be hurting them with paddles and wax and everything…right?" Rachel asked with a hint of desperation shining through in her hesitation.

"Think of it like this…your sub trusts you to take their needs into consideration, and that they will be able to give you what you need. Both roles, despite the power dynamic, are equals and must be respected that way. And no one has to be locked into one role…like I said, I switch, and you could too, if you wanted. But if you're looking into being a domme, you need to work within this power dynamic, within the set rules. So if you picked up that paddle in the box there…" She trailed off, giving Berry a wordless signal to perhaps rummage in her briefcase for the large, leather paddle. Santana barely needed to wait a few seconds before she heard Rachel pull something out and whap it a few times on the edge of the bed. "No one's ever used that on me before, but I'm comfortable with you holding it. I trust that you won't hurt me with it. Can you explain why I might feel that way? Even just one reason?"

Rachel hummed for a moment, before the bed creaked and suck a little closer toward her feet. "Because I'm not aware of your limits, and I don't know how you feel about paddles? Just because you own one, doesn't mean you'd like it to be used against you." Rachel spoke quickly, clearly a little nervous, probably about the potential of answering wrong. But Berry was an ace student, and Santana could only smile at the answer.

"Exactly, Rach. Though I'll admit freely a little spanking wouldn't kill me. I kinda even like it. But that paddle? That's something I'd have to work up to and have major restrictions and conditions on its use before I'd lower my soft limit on it." Santana added, ensuring that she sounded cheerful to hopefully reassure the diva that she was doing well. Sure, it was a lecture, and it dealt with some serious stuff and vulnerabilities, but it could help Rachel be happy in the end, and that was what mattered right then, no matter how she kind of wanted Berry to slide her yoga pants down and give her a few hand spanks for fun.

"Why would you like getting spanked? Doesn't it hurt?" Rachel asked, sounding quite confused, and she kind of wished she could see the diva's face. The girl was probably doing one of her many 'thinking' poses.

"It's kind of like a spice to the whole experience…I mean, personally, I'd never want a session entirely devoted to pain play, but having a bit of it adds some flavour to it all. Kind of like hair pulling and dirty talk in sex." She explained, cheekily raising her ass up in case berry was looking at it. "Some spanks wouldn't send me to the hospital, and the lasting tingly feeling is kind of nice. It's not like I'm actually getting hurt, it's just a kink…kind of like how you take cool showers when you wash your hair."

"I do that because it's good for my hair." Rachel retorted quickly, predictably defensive over one of her many beauty regimens.

"And I get spanked because it makes me happy." Santana added immediately, before deciding to shift the conversation back toward the more useful elements. "Anyway, you can be a loving domme, absolutely. Like…fuck, I guess I'll give an example."

Rachel's hand on her left foot a few seconds into the silence pushed her to figure something out that was suitable, but despite having a million possible scene ideas, her heart demanded one closer to home. And she'd suffered too much tonight to ignore it any longer. "Let's say there's a couple, and they slip into roles only when they're at home with each other. Both work a lot of hours, but one has a really busy schedule, let's assume, so these instances don't happen too often, or for too long, with the exception of weekends being a little clearer. So they really just want to make the most of their time together, and they really take to their roles around each other. Alright? Can you imagine that?"

"Vividly. I certainly understand the rigors of a dense work schedule, so I can understand valuing personal time so highly." Rachel answered, and Santana could only nod, knowing her example would be reflecting their lives a little too close, but it was just a really easy example, and being tied up wasn't helping her from feeling a little vulnerable and submissive.

"So maybe it's a Monday, and from the hours of nine in the morning to eleven, the sub is supposed to work on her music, because she's trying to learn it, and hopefully get an album out or something. Anyway, time is strictly set aside for that, because the domme knows it's her sub's career goal, and she just wants what's best for her sub. She wants to guide her to a better, brighter future because she loves her, and just wants her to be happy and successful like she knows her sub can be." Santana clarifies softly, eyes closed to ensure no tears would slip out if they started building up. She trusted Rachel a hundred percent, but she didn't trust her own body to contain her emotions.

"Yes, yes of course. I'd only want her to be happy and to reach her potential." Rachel whispered tenderly, as if to herself from how quiet it sounded.

"But maybe, that Monday, the sub spent most of that time puttering around aimlessly online, or watching reality TV. And maybe she quit out early the previous day as well. So the domme isn't sure what the problem is, so she investigates, and asks why her lovely little sub isn't doing her work. And maybe the sub doesn't answer, or dismisses her domme." Santana continued, letting out a sigh at how transparent she was probably being at this point, but she couldn't stop. The words kept building up at the back of her throat, and the dam just kept collapsing. "Hypothetically, their pre-written rules for their relationship included ten to twenty hand spanks for light punishment, and ten to twenty hand and paddle mixed spanks for a moderate one. What would you categorize this instance as, Rachel?"

The sound of Rachel flopping backward onto her bed filled the silence afterward, and partially cut the tension in the room to a degree. Santana didn't feel as if she were going to choke on her words anymore, as she'd previously felt in telling the hypothetical story.

"Moderate. If my sub loves music and is refusing to work on it or explain why they aren't, then there's a need for open communication. But…but isn't it abusing my sub, beating them for not speaking to me though? What if she needs her space?" Rachel asked, her speech becoming a little more frantic near the end, clearly worried about any violence inflicted on the girl she loves. It was bittersweet, hearing Berry so in love with someone else.

"She'd use her safe word if she didn't want to follow those rules, and the punishment would be deferred until later, after a time where she could think things over. There's almost always this sort of flexibility talked about beforehand. Anyway…the violence is just the agreed upon punishment. Maybe the sub broke the rules somewhat purposely."

That seemed to catch Rachel's attention, by the sound of shifting fabric on the bed. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well…well, maybe the sub is feeling ashamed and embarrassed at herself for not being productive enough, for not learning quick enough, or not feeling skilled enough. Maybe she doesn't feel good enough, and is too self-conscious, hurt and ashamed to admit that to her domme…at least normally. Some people hide their hurt behind anger, snark and indifference because it's easier to cope that way, even if it's short term, self-destructive and unhealthy. They might know the longer term solution, or the better solution logically, but might not feel capable or comfortable normally." She explained further, Santana knowing she was getting WAY too personal at that point, and was thankful that she seemed to have been able to stop the words from flowing censorship-free from her mouth.

However, Rachel's hand resting lightly on her ass was enough to know the diva likely saw through her less than opaque 'example'. The gentle rubbing soon after let her stop caring too much about oversharing. They WERE best friends. Bonding on that level had to happen sometime or another, anyway. She let out a pleased hum to let Rachel know she appreciated the touch.

"The spanking would help the sub get to, or at least get closer to a place, mentally, where she could act on the trust she had in her domme to take care of her, to guide her, and to love her like she needed to be. It'd help her let herself truly feel and act on the truth that her domme is safe, and that she doesn't need to be scared of feeling weak or like a idiot in front of her, or feeling like she's failed her domme by not being good enough." Santana finished, letting out another sigh, one mixed with relief from the example being over, and of pleasure from the fact that Rachel's little massage had added a second hand mid-way through. It was calming and felt really fantastic. She'd never been all that much of an ass girl, at least when it came to the girls she liked, but Santana really loved when girls touched hers.

"What then? What happens after the spanking?" Rachel asked quietly, her massage sadly ending, though the weight of Rachel's head on top of it didn't go unappreciated in the least. Berry had always been pretty affectionate, and just having the diva hang all over her at times was pretty great. Even if Rachel WAS kind of like a monkey at times, something she reminded her of whenever she saw that weird albino monkey stuffed animal of Berry's.

Santana arched her ass a bit to give Rachel a bit better cushion to rest her head on, and let out a giggle when Berry kind of nuzzled it. Sure, it was late, and Rachel was probably tired, but still. Weirdly adorable.

"Well, if the spanking is all that's called for at the time, regarding their rules and what the domme things her sub needs, then they shift into aftercare. Some aloe for the sub's bum, hydration, and probably lots of cuddling, affection, and vocal reassurances. That sort of stuff. A loving domme probably wouldn't want her sub do get punished, because she'd just want the sub to be happy, stable, mature, communicative and generally heading toward a successful life." Santana remarked, happy that they were probably near the end of the BDSM 101 training crash course. "But the reality is that people aren't perfect, and they crack under pressure and have rough days where all their personal buttons are pressed, and they'll act out. And in those moments, they'll need help, and the domme will hopefully be there to take care of her sub and put her back on track so the sub can be happy and reminded that she's loved. And the sub will know that her domme is there for her, cares for her, is dependable, and deserves all of her in return."

The hitch of Rachel's breath and subsequent hot, shuddering breath against the slightly exposed skin of her hip was nearly a sensory overload at that moment. Small shit, yeah, but just hearing Berry react to learning about the dynamic in a way that took her breath away was really intense. It honestly had Santana's body all abuzz, and she didn't really want that to stop.

"Have you ever had that?" Rachel whispered against her hip, her hot breath lighting the skin ablaze with heat and causing her body to shudder with goosebumps.

Santana took a moment to catch her breath and clear her head from reveling in Rachel's closeness. "I'm just out of my teens, Rachel. I haven't had the time, or the person to, like get anything close to that. I had a domme a few weeks ago that I ran some scenes with, and I did a few random ones with people at a club, but no…I haven't had that. But I've read about it."

"Is that something you'd want in the future, though?" Rachel asked, her head leaving Santana's ass, to be replaced by her hands again, which honestly was just as nice, even if it felt a little like Rachel was actively putting distance between them. Which, really, she understood, and maybe Berry understood she'd asked the wrong question, too.

"It's not important, Rachel." She shot back quietly but firmly, reminding Rachel that there was some mystery girl out there in New York who needed to be asked these questions.

"It is to me, Santana. I want to know." Rachel insisted, her voice not any louder or harder, nor weaker. Just more passionate, and that sent a chill down Santana's spine.

"You can ask me after you've asked your mystery girl, Rach, because this is for her, remember?" Santana asked, trying not to feel frustrated and like she was being taunted, because it was kind of really hard to have Rachel so close, wanting to know what she wanted, even if Berry didn't want her. It just wasn't Rachel's right to know.

Rachel let out an immediate frustrated huff, one hand leaving Santana's ass to smack the duvet-covered bed. "And I'm asking you."

"I know that, but you need to ask this mystery crush of yours these questions, because it's really…" Santana began, before she felt Rachel's other hand return, only for both to slowly begin sliding up her hips and along her sides. The touch was both molten and electric, and it was all she could do not to succumb to it. Quinn would have been in hysterics were she to see her in that moment, Santana was sure.

"I _know_. I'm asking _you_ , Santana." Rachel spoke softly, the diva's hot breath grazing the small of her back, as Rachel's hands continued stroking her sides slowly and tantalizingly.

On one hand, Santana wanted so badly to just submit. She'd been in position for a while, and her mindset had made some appropriate shifts, but on the other hand, she knew it'd be wrong to do anything that would bypass the guidelines she'd been teaching Rachel. It honestly wasn't the proper moment for the teacher to let the student cheat her way through the test. The work simply had to be done.

So, body tense from frustration, Santana spoke through gritted teeth. "Rachel, I need you to unbind me, please. I can't do this right now."

And with another, less dramatic huff, Rachel shifted closer to the headboard, her chestnut hair nearly hiding the intense frown on Berry's face. And as soon as the restraints were loosened enough to take off, so was Rachel, halfway-storming out of the bedroom, and like hell if Santana was going to let Rachel just rush off like that.

"Rachel!" She called out, not earning any answer as she slid her hands from the scarves and freed herself.

As quickly as she could, she rolled off the bed and ran after the diva, who had amazingly managed to toss her boots on by then, and was just reaching for her coat by the time Santana got within reach of her. Preventing Berry from wearing the cherry red coat, she quickly wrapped her arms around the diva's waist, pressing herself into the girl's back.

"You're my best friend, Rach." Santana noted quietly, resting her head on Rachel's shoulder, trying to communicate physically that she needed Rachel to stay, that she needed her close right now. "I would do anything for you, so when…when you asked me to teach you about something that would help some girl that won your heart, I was kind of happy. But…also…I was hurt."

Rachel's body stiffened inside of Santana's arms, the girl making a single, brief, and ultimately failed attempt to free herself. "Santana, I'm really not feeling in the mood for a guilt trip right now, alright?"

The pain in Rachel's voice had Santana wanting to soothe it, wanting to make it better. And it hurt that she'd been the one to cause that response with her poor choice of words, so she quickly clarified. "I hurt, because I never knew you could love like that. I never knew you could love a girl, that you could ever accept how I felt, so I…I decided to help. Because I'm your best friend, I just want you to be happy. So I was just surprised, okay?" She asked, Rachel's body relaxing a little as Santana's hands lightly massaged Rachel's abs.

"And fuck, call me a sap, but I want things to go right this time. I want to show you how I feel, and I want to know what you feel for me, but neither of us could have done that back there on the bed, okay?" She added, thankfully earning a slow, hesitant nod from a silent Rachel. While she had hoped for some words from the chatty diva, it was certainly better than nothing. "It would have gotten messy and painful, so I needed to be free. I needed you to set me free so that I could tell you something important face to face. So…please, Rach. Turn around?"

At her pleading, the diva thankfully offered another nod and slowly spun in Santana's arms, tears streaking down her cheeks and her bottom lip quivering. Almost immediately, before Santana can react, Rachel's hands are cupping her face; not doing anything else, just holding her face, ensuring their eye contact. It felt pretty damn wonderful, and it was hard not to melt to the touch, but she pushed through it, promising herself another slice of pizza later on if she could get the right words out.

"You're my best friend, my family, and I have love for you. I have for years now. And…and I'm never gonna tell you how to love me, okay? Never. But I promise you, Rach…BDSM or no, it won't change the fact that I've been falling for you for about two years now. And if you're up for teaching me how to take that next step with you, then I'm yours." She spoke, memorizing every shift in facial expression, every tear shed, every growth in Rachel's smile in that moment.

As Rachel's head angled, so did hers, Rachel's hands willing them closer until their lips met. It was a chaste kiss, just mouths meeting with fleeting and enduring moments of passion and longing, that moment a culmination of the bonding, the friendship, and the sexual tension that had grown between them across the years.

"One day, I'll earn all of you." Rachel spoke breathlessly as they parted, their foreheads still touching as they both panted for air, Santana perhaps a little more laboured of the two. "I believe that one day, you'll trust me like that."

And honestly, after long years of waiting, Santana was finally able to return the words Rachel once spoke to her in sophomore year when her crush first started setting its roots.

"I believe you." She whispered against Rachel's lips before closing the distance with another kiss, one that let her know that her night off was probably going to run a little later than usual. Santana had a sneaking suspicion, however, that such a change was exactly what Rachel had in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's my attempt for the Teacher/Student prompt. Santana as the teacher, and Rachel as the student. Didn't feel like doing the traditional approach, and I've had BDSM on my mind lately. I know Santana is usually the domme in these sorts of fics (and I DO have her as a switch), but I could honestly see her being a sub just as easily (and that's my preferred route when applying BDSM to pezberry). Same with Rachel, honestly, to some degree. I mean, yeah, she fits the stereotypical 'control freak who could use a space to let loose and be safe' part, but at the same time, Rachel seems to love control and meticulous planning and being a winner, and I personally know a domme who aligns with Rachel's personality in canon fairly closely (well, except for swapping her life goals inexplicably on a whim for no apparent reason, like was written into the latter half of S5), so I thought that route was just as legit, though I could see, in this fic's context, Santana pulling a switch and being a domme for the rare occasion when Rachel may want one. I think that dynamic would be fitting for them both. Anywho, I could go on and on about how I feel they fit into BDSM contexts, but I'll just cut it out for now :P
> 
> Thanks so much for being awesome and reading :)


	11. Pezberry Week '14: AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in the Deus Ex: Human Revolution universe, Santana is the head of security for Schuester Industries, and is personally seeking out those responsible for the murder and kidnapping of her fellow coworkers and friends. Well, with the help of her trusty pilot and best friend Rachel. However, certain groups are well invested in insuring they not reach their destination. (One-shot, Rachel/Santana friendship/romance)

It was strange how things could go to shit so quickly. Honestly, Santana had thought that the initial assault on Schue Industries had been insane enough, with a black ops team waltzing in and murdering dozens of staff, including a team of scientists that included her ex, Brittany Pierce. None of it had made sense at the time, or even afterward; sure, they were a large enough organization, but the amount of augmentations the soldiers had was staggering, as was the quality. She'd honestly never seen those sort of body modifications before the attack.

Yet, despite how insane it was, the attack could have been chalked up as some competitive revenge plot, some rival company taking a hit out on her company's best scientists, to prevent the presentation Britt was going to put on in Washington. So while the magnitude of the attack was off the charts insane, it wasn't too hard to wrap her head around it.

However, in the week and a half or so since returning back to work and getting used to her own heavily augmented and reconstructed body, some seriously crazy stuff had gone down. First, she found out the largest media conglomerate in the world was run by a goddamn AI, and that Quinn Fabray, its most popular news anchor, was the AI running the show. So that was insane.

Also insane was the idea that those black op soldiers that attacked six or so months back hadn't actually killed Britt's team, but instead abducted them for the goddamn Illuminati. Seriously, if she was a writer, she wouldn't have even cooked up that shit, and if she had, it would have read like some cheesy sci-fi movie plot.

And then there was how she was an orphan. Sure, Santana had had some thoughts about the possibilities, not looking incredibly like her parents growing up, but she'd long since dismissed the notion. When it turned out to be true, it had been a kick in the gut; learning that Britt had been in contact with one of the nurses at the lab Santana's parents had died in had been even worse. Because really, Britt knew her parentage before she did, and that was about as goddamn fishy and insane as it got.

So a second trip to Hengsha to investigate one of Britt's missing team members after their GPL implant activated following months of radio silence? Not so crazy. Not crazy at all. Though her pilot was definitely doing her best to change that with her relentless love for song.

Berry had modified her VTOL transport with a set of speakers in the seating area, and would play ludicrously cheesy music from century old Broadway shows. To say it got old quick was putting it lightly. Still, Santana tried to look on the bright side. Rachel was the first new friend she'd made when she took the job at Schue Industries, and when she wasn't basically held captive by the pilot in her BE-E model air transport, the woman was pretty good to hang out with.

A long flight to Hengsha, though, was another matter altogether. They weren't far from the ridiculous two-tiered city, which was thankful, but Berry was about two hours deep into her Disney music marathon. The only glimmer of positivity in that was that Rachel had some killer pipes, and had a voice she could listen to all day long. At least, so long as Berry wasn't singing solely show-tunes and cartoon music, which was usually what happened, sadly.

"Berry, can you just…gimme a bit of quiet time in before we land? I'm not getting paid enough to listen to you rabble on about century old cartoon songs." Santana complained, probably for the sixtieth time in the past ten hours or so.

"I believe the rules are that passengers have no control over the stereo, so I think I'll just continue to enjoy myself, Lopez." Berry quipped back, the shifting of music bringing a groan out of Santana, the familiar instrumentation letting her know that Rachel was trolling her now.

"Tale as old as time…true as it can be, barely even friends, then somebody bends, unexpectedly…" Rachel sang along to the stupid song about some French folk-tale about bestiality or whatever. Santana knew the girl sang it all tongue in cheek or whatever, insinuating that Berry was the beauty and she was the beast. While pretty wanky, the whole thing was stupidly weird in Rachel's own way; it had begun being 'their thing', according to Berry at least, nearly a year ago, but ever since she'd basically been rebuilt with augmentations it seemed pretty fitting.

So she sat there with a scowl on her face, one Berry couldn't see, being in the cockpit and all, as they closed the last kilometer to Hengsha and entered the lower city. Santana just wanted to get out and stretch her legs. Sure, getting out and figuring out what the hell was going on was vital too, but the cabin of the transport was pretty cramped.

Thankfully, Berry stopped the song midway through, though the hesitant shift in her voice immediately set Santana on edge. "Well…bad news, spy girl." Rachel noted, sounding a little confused and concerned underneath her ineffective attempt at confidence. Seriously, the girl's poker face was almost as bad as the girl's ability to keep a secret or lie.

"Spy girl?" Santana asked, cocking her head to the side a bit, as it was a surprisingly new nickname. Rachel, for the longest time, had avoided giving her a nickname, just using her last name instead, the professional that she was. Santana, of course, called the pilot all sorts of names on their spare time, but on the job, she tended to keep it mostly professional, sprinkling in the odd teasing nickname when she could get away with it. But Berry had been her rock through the past six and a half months or so, and it was nice to hear a bit of playfulness from Rachel. Even if, really, it was being used as a decoy. Whatever, she'd bite anyway.

"I felt it was suitable, given your recent forays into espionage and subterfuge." Rachel remarked all prim and politely, as if the girl hadn't grown up in the Hengsha slums much like how she'd grown up in Detroit's. That said, Rachel DID manage to have SOME class when she need to, and cleaned up well. Santana, well, she used to be able to. Wasn't so sure anymore.

"Anyway, Lopez, Hengsha traffic control just revoked our clearance. We're being rerouted to another part of the city." Rachel continued, clearly sounding at least as suspicious as Santana was feeling. Ever since Montreal, there had been a sinking feeling in her gut, and it was only getting worse with this revelation.

"I don't like the sound of that. Can't we just ignore them, Berry?" Santana asked cheekily, even if she knew this was probably a sign that Belltower knew they were coming, and weren't planning on making anything easy.

"It's the Chinese government, Lopez. Whether they're working through a private agency or not, I really have to comply." The pilot noted with a well-deserved sigh; they'd been through a hell of a lot of detours and random 'you-should-be-intimidated' security checks before, and neither of them would look forward to the wasted hours ahead of them. "Bravo-Echo-Echo, Zero-Zero-Eight, proceeding to the designated coordinates."

The VTOL banked westward as they flew through lower Hengsha's airspace. Santana was just about to ask if the new coordinates would take them anywhere near Rachel's old home when the lights inside the transport began flashing red.

"What the…! We've got a SAM locked on our tail!" Santana heard Rachel call out through the intercom, which was just about as bad of luck as they could have gotten, given that Hengsha's air-space was basically a number of small pockets of open air within a mess of skyscrapers and maintenance towers. The sound of the craft's flares shooting off let her know they were in open air and, with the VTOL's lack of agility, likely about to get severely fucked in the ass.

A second passed before the craft was hit by a predictable minor shockwave, the lights and engines shutting off, Rachel's voice entering Santana's personal comm. channel instead. "Lopez, all systems are down! We're going in hard, so yank the door open and jump when you have clearance!"

Santana scowled at the thought of evacuating without her pilot; the thought of Berry going down with the ship wasn't a nice thought, especially with their descent being both steep and erratic with the aircraft spiraling out toward the surface. Even with Berry's insistence of ensuring her BE-E was the pinnacle of safety, any crash landing was going to hurt a lot. And Santana? She'd lost enough friends. Berry would not be another friendly face she'd only ever see in her goddamn dreams.

Still, when the opportunity came mere seconds before impact, she threw herself from the aircraft, her Icarus Landing system augmentation activating as she fell toward the ground, slowing her landing substantially, enough so that her legs were only a little sore at they touched down on the three story building.

Santana didn't see the crash so much as she heard it, and immediately took off toward the fire escape, sliding down one of the rails manually to save energy. She broke into a sprint as she passed a concrete wall, darting towards the wreckage; it was damn impressive, in a depressing way, that Berry would crash land precisely in the middle of a mostly vacant construction zone while in a dead spin and with nothing but manual controls to aid her. Woman was a sorceress.

She pulled her sniper rifle out and quickly scanned the area, breaking out a string of angry Spanish curses at the sight of a slew of Belltower cronies closing in on the area. "Berry, we've got company!"

"I know, I know, Santana, but my baby's taken some damage, and despite my rigorous weekly testing and monthly safety upgrades with the help of Artie's R&D team, it's going to take some time to patch it up. I've got the systems powering back up, but I'm not going to be able to fly away for another few minutes. Probably three and a half minutes of a window." Rachel rambled as Santana fired off a few shots, targeting the heavier looking troops carrying chain-guns. Rachel may have been a pacifist, but Santana wasn't, and she was almost reeling in the opportunity to use the new exploding rounds mod for her revolvers. Because for the first time on the job, Rachel had called her by her first name, and as minor as that may seem to most, it meant a lot to her.

"I got your back, Rachel. You just sit tight and focus on repairs." Santana spoke through grit teeth, rolling out of the way of a rocket. From behind a column of a partially constructed building, she could spot twenty two people she needed to kill. It seemed Rachel had noticed that problematic situation as well.

"Negative! You need to get away from here and find Doctor Cohen-Chang, I'll be fine!" Rachel called out unusually angrily, with the telltale sounds of Berry's tools at work from inside the cockpit.

Santana stabilized her rifle against a nearby cement ledge and took another three shots, taking down the rocketeer and another of the heavies. No time could be wasted, and as a massive steel block fell from the sky and landed near the aircraft, she knew she'd have to shift her position accordingly.

"You'll be a sitting duck out here all alone, so just let Auntie Snixx take care of this for you." Santana answered, flipping over her cover and dashing across the field, a few rounds impacting against her side. In a way, she was thankful for the initial attack at Schue Industries and the six months of recovery, because bullets just didn't seem to hurt as much anymore. Once close enough to Rachel's transport, she lobbed her only EMP grenade over it and into the personal space of the metal box that was slowly shifting into a terrifyingly high-powered mech. _If only they thought enough to put in some shields, or a more logical emergency shut-down than self-destruct. Seriously, BellTower…_

"Perhaps, Santana, but you could back out right now unnoticed with your cloaking augmentation, and you know it! We're here to do a job, and…" Rachel's comm. channel was noisy from the flurry of repairs going on, and the woman sounded more than a little frantic and pained. And yeah, Santana knew Rachel had a point, but this wasn't about the job anymore. That could wait. Killing the scumbags out to murder Berry couldn't.

"And I can't do this without you, Rachel. So toss on your best chapstick when this is over, because my ass will be ready for some kissing." She called out cheekily, hoping to lighten the mood as more bullet fire peppered against the aircraft she was momentarily taking cover against. Thankfully, the loud, earth-shaking explosion of the mech soon after let her move onto her next target, one of the unfinished buildings across the courtyard.

Using her stealth mod, she ran across the muddy field, swapping her sniper rifle for her pair of revolvers, firing a single shot at an exposed barrel of chemicals on the second floor of the tower. The sight of two bodies flying in the subsequent explosion was enough to put a smile on her face

With the sound of gunfire filling her ears, she uncloaked and activated her typhoon explosive system, using the last of her energy cells to send a three-hundred and sixty degree burst of high speed, high impact ball bearings into a small group of Belltower soldiers. As they flew back, she unloaded her revolver rounds into them, the explosions doing rather fantastic things to accelerate the process of their deaths in a damn painful manner.

"Aghh, shit!" Rachel's voice cried out over her comms in agony, Santana's head swiveling around; she could spot a few with assault rifles slowly wearing down the craft's shields, but nothing too substantial anymore. The fact that Rachel actually said the 'S-word' instead of something ridiculous like 'suffering succotash' was enough, though, for her to understand that something had made it through. A brief glint of light from a scope on the other side of the tower was enough to know there were snipers. That she couldn't see their bodies was obvious that they were cloaked.

Santana pulled a frag grenade out and tossed it toward two assault troops before dashing across the partially constructed first floor; the impact of an armor-piercing round against her chest did more than take her breath away, knocking her hard to the ground. Thankfully, she had some augmentations to keep her mostly cybernetic vital organs working and healing on their own, but it didn't change the fact that she goddamn hurt now, and was bleeding pretty badly, and might have taken one through her kidney.

Tossing her cloak on for some momentary survivability, she rolled to cover, taking a bite of a half-eaten powerbar and downing some pills to keep her working at closer to full strength. _This sucks…if I can't see them, I can't flush them out. Unless…_

Honestly, her plan wasn't very good. It'd cripple her in the future combat-wise unless she managed for find an arms dealer nearby, because her spare rinky-dink machine pistol blew. However, the thought of burning through so many explosive revolver rounds in a matter of seconds was enticing.

Feeling a little energized, Santana took her best guess of a potential firing point of the sniper and began firing around it, fiery explosions bursting throughout the hard concrete-structured area and erupting the odd barrel of chemicals nearby. Bodies flew, her skin felt like it was burning, and there were about twelve new corpses fresh out of the oven when it was over. But the best thing was seeing the uncloaked sniper running to newer cover.

With her last frag grenade, Santana hauled it toward the sole assault rifle-wielding soldier remaining, and let her tired, literally smoking hot body rush toward the sniper, who was just stabilizing his rifle and aiming at the VTOL again.

Another shot fired off just as Santana vaulted over his cover and propelled a fist against the soldier's helmet. A shocked scream from Rachel was all she needed to know that the bullet had missed its target, letting her tear the helmet off with her free hand and proceed to lay into the man with her augmented fists. Again. And again. The sound of Rachel crying out in pain was all she needed for motivation in finishing off the last of Belltower's forces manually and viscerally; his nose broke before his jaw, which broke before his cheek and orbital bone. It was only the sound of the VTOL's engines powering up that broke her from her murderous daze.

Her body feeling like it'd suffered second degree burns, she hobbled toward the aircraft, slumping against the window of the cockpit. There Rachel was, cradling an injured shoulder, eyes shut in pain as she breathed heavily. Certainly not a terribly serious injury if Berry was her, with her restorative augmentations, but that wasn't the case. Rachel needed medical care.

Santana began inputting the entry code for the cockpit as Rachel's weakened voice came in on her comms. "Santana, I…I got my baby fixed, and I'm taking off. You get out of here, too."

Santana entered the final digit, popping the entrance open enough for her to slip in beside the pilot's seat. "Not so fast, fly-girl." Santana chuckled, as she pulled out a hypostim and removed the cap. "Hold this for me, Rach, okay?"

Rachel's eyes fluttered open, the girl wincing throughout, though her eyes softened once locked onto Santana and what she was holding out. With her good hand, Berry took the stim and let Santana lean her forward, checking for an exit wound.

"Good, it went right through you." Santana noted with relief, grabbing Rachel's handy first-aid kit before quickly bandaging the area up. With a little work, and the impact of the hypostim, Berry was as patched up as her baby bird, and Santana could breathe a little easier.

"Santana…" Rachel called out as Santana double-checked her wrapping job. She knew it'd be tricky for the pilot to fly with the injury, but she did her best to retain as much flexibility for her as possible. She let out a quiet hum of acknowledgement as she tidied up a small area near the bloody wound. Soon, the effects of the stim would do their magic, and the wound would close up enough so that Rachel could get away to a hospital for treatment. "Santana, your body armor is burned away in a number of areas."

That caught her attention, because her body had pretty much done its thing, and she was feeling pretty great again. But, as Rachel had stated, there were large areas of skin showing, as well as her sports bra-covered left breast. As she shifted her gaze from her own body back to Rachel, she noticed the pilot was quite busy getting a good look in, and it certainly wasn't Berry just scanning for injuries. Which, honestly, was pretty flattering; ever since her body was basically torn apart and re-done with augmentations, she'd felt more machine than woman, but with the way Rachel was staring at her, she felt human again. Hell, almost pretty, even.

Santana rested a hand on Rachel's, happy to see that the medicine was freeing the woman from the pain of the injury. "Get a hold of Zizes, I'm sure she can help us fly off the grid for long enough to find some shelter and a doctor to look you over."

"But, the mission…" Rachel started to complain, though Santana was happy to see that Rachel's heart wasn't exactly in the abrupt complaint.

"Can wait. The GPL came online two days ago, and its location has barely changed since. I'll find Tina. I'll find Britt and her team, too, but I'm not going to do that at the cost of you." Santana spoke softly, resting a hand on Rachel's, her HUD lifting so that her pilot would be able to see the sincerity in her eyes. "I told you, I can't do this without you."

And it was true. Without Rachel, she had no pilot she could trust. But beyond that, she'd have no rock. No friend at her side when more and more of the people she was involved with were turning out to be shitty, scheming assholes. And honestly, hearing Rachel in pain reminded her of the magnitude of what she'd lose without her best friend.

"You're not…just saying this to butter me up. I'm not going to kiss your bum, Santana." Rachel's voice was a little conflicted and wary, but the telltale biting of the right-most corner of Berry's lower lip signaled one very important thing. Anticipation.

Santana covered her heart and let out a mock gasp. "You wound me!" She cried out in feigned agony, enjoying the little giggle and eye-roll from her pilot. "But if you're not gonna kiss me there, maybe…maybe we can figure out a better alternative?"

Rachel's cheeks blushed as a tiny smile tugged at her lips, Santana surprised that the girl wasn't more surprised. Or, honestly, given her appearance, more put off.

"Only if you respect my need for trial runs, Santana. You know that I like to be thorough." Rachel responded, her voice lower and huskier than Santana had heard before, and it was honestly doing strange things to her body. Nice things. And she really did like the idea of Rachel being thorough and conducting a series of 'tests' to ascertain the best place for her lips to meet Santana's body.

"Whatever you want, fly girl." Santana chuckled as she input the coordinates of a doctor she knew of from her last time in Hengsha into Berry's system, squeezing in beside Rachel as the cockpit closed. Rachel quickly began working her way through a hastened take-off prep, because Belltower certainly wouldn't take TOO long to send reinforcements, and they really did need to get the hell out of dodge.

Santana listened to Rachel hum that damned Beauty & the Beast song as the ship went through its usual pre-flight sequences, Berry bringing her baby back into the skies and away from the warzone they'd both rather soon forget.

About five minutes into the flight, though, Rachel gave Santana a little nudge with her uninjured elbow. "So, what do you think about Cabo? I mean, when we're done this mission, and life gets back to normal, of course. You were technically brought back early from medical leave and should have about two weeks saved up, and I haven't taken time off in over four years and should have a few weeks saved up as well. I think we've earned a little vacation."

Santana rolled her eyes at the predictability of Rachel taking some solid flirting and escalating it to scheduling a damn vacation getaway together. But honestly, the sheer thought of them both by the water, hanging-out, relaxing, and possibly with Rachel half-naked? Yeah, she could be more than okay with that. And maybe Rachel could help her feel okay in her new skin. It was a nice thought.

"Yeah, I think we have." Santana noted with a smile, knowing she had a little more motivation to get through this whole goddamned wild goose chase in one piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a little lazy with this one in the action bits. Really just wasn't feeling them…it usually takes me a while to feel comfortable writing that sort of content, and it simply wasn't happening, so I just went with what I could dish up instead of agonizing over it for any longer. Hopefully this one wasn't too rough. I like the idea of a Jensen!Santana and Malik!Rachel crossover, and Rachel sneaking into San's apartment one night only to find Santana eating one of the dozen boxes of cereal. :P Or Rachel trying to steal some of Santana's cereal early one morning while she thought San was asleep. I'm pretty sure Rachel would be snacking on some Crunchy Pirate, but Santana would grab it from her and give her the box of Magic Gnome cereal instead. And Rachel would huff, stomp her foot, and threaten Santana with never teaching her how to hang-glide.
> 
> Anyway, needless to say, I like Jensen/Malik, and I had fun implementing Santana and Rachel into this. Not a super great one-shot, but sort of fun to write nonetheless.


	12. Pezberry Week '14: Locked In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana and Rachel find themselves locked in a boiler room overnight by Quinn and Puck while the rest of the gleeks prepare for Mr. Schue’s birthday celebration.   
> Part 1 of "Locked-In" arc

"This is fucking BULLSHIT, PUCK!" Santana yelled at the door before slamming her fist against it in another flurry of blows. "You and Quinn better watch your backs! No me gusta!"

Rachel, meanwhile, sat off in the corner of the boiler room, watching her fellow gleek let out her frustration at the predicament they now found themselves in. In all honesty, she really should have seen this coming; there was little logical reason, while setting up a surprise birthday presentation for Mister Schue, that Puck would ask herself and Santana to help him carry some tools from one of the janitor's closets. Hindsight was twenty-twenty, she supposed.

So while Santana was angry, perhaps furious, Rachel was just depressed. Puck and Quinn had weaponized her in a prank against Santana, trapping them in the incredibly warm and humid boiler room for an indefinite period of time. All to torment Santana, because apparently Rachel Berry was a torture device.

Rachel knew she was self-centred, overbearing, at times bossy, and that many felt she talked too much. And she knew that many were repulsed by her fashion choices. However, she was just a teenage girl trying to make her way through high school, not some creature from a horror film. It was nearly the end of junior year, it was incomprehensible to Rachel that the other gleeks would still hate her so much.

Even Finn had cast her aside. It was easier to understand that she was unlovable, but Rachel couldn't understand how, to so many, she was unlikeable. It wasn't as if she was entirely intense every second of the day, she could and had been a good listener before. She was thoughtful, when she allowed herself time to think. She was kind, even if she knew her lack of tact masked that to most. She read popular novels, and watched popular movies and television shows in order to keep current in case conversation sprouted up.

It never did. Not really.

"Such jackasses." Santana groaned out with a sigh, her balled fists falling to her sides in defeat, the door having been just as locked as the one leading outside.

"If it makes it any easier, Santana, I can remain here in this corner the whole time. Or, if you prefer I go somewhere more secluded so that you won't have to see me, I think I could fit between those two machines over there." Rachel offered flatly, her night feeling ruined. She'd been tremendously excited as glee's captain to do something nice and positive, and to rally the whole club around it. Instead, the rest of the club was having fun preparing for the morning while she was sweating and miserable, trapped in a darn boiler room.

"Whatever. I don't even care, Berry." Santana noted gruffly as the cheerleader tromped past her, seemingly scanning the room for some reason. "Fuck. Good."

Rachel watched Santana disappear behind one of the old, rusty machines, and a few grunts and Spanish curses later, Santana emerged with a milk crate and a tool box, grinning ear to ear. However, the grin left when Santana opened the box to reveal it was hardly filled with tools. There was a hammer, a pair of pliers, and inexplicably a bag of skittles.

Santana cast a glance back to the door, sighing as she shifted her focus back to the tools. "Well, these won't help. Here…" Santana stated flatly, tossing the bag of skittles at Rachel, who barely reacted in time to avoid the package from colliding with her face. "…Taste the rainbow, Berry."

It was an odd offer; Rachel had expected the cheerleader to hoard the candy for herself out of spite for being trapped in there together. Instead, she found herself in possession of the entire bag, "You're not going to have any?"

"Coach would have a shit fit if I did. They're all yours, so maybe you'll be too busy munching on them to yammer on all night." Santana claimed, her last sentence feeling like yet another example of how lowly people thought of her. It was upsetting; almost enough to wallow in pity, had she not already been humiliated enough in being seen and used as a tool to annoy Santana with already.

"I don't understand why you think I talk so much. I do in glee, but outside of it, I'm only increasingly vocal when I'm upset." Rachel insisted, earning an unimpressed scowl from the cheerleader.

"And you're upset. Thus, the skittles." Santana remarked offhandedly as she strolled to the other side of the room, hauling a large, round, empty plastic bin with her. Rachel watched as the girl sat on the crate, picked up the hammer and pliers, and started lightly hitting them off of the nearby objects.

"What are you doing?" she asked, after a few minutes of Santana randomly hitting things. It didn't seem like an efficient use of energy, given how hot it was in the room, and with their exit time not exactly known, she sort of worried that the girl would either over-exert herself, or end up breaking something important and potentially deadly.

Santana's random hitting-spree stilled for a moment as the cheerleader turned her gaze to the diva. "Music helps me think, and I need to think up a killer way at getting back at Quinn and Puck before we leave here."

Rachel was usually a good actress, but with the night just going so poorly, she wasn't sure she'd been able to conceal the hurt of Santana openly acknowledging that being stuck in her presence was worthy of a revenge plot.

"Stop that frowny shit, Berry." She heard the other girl remark, raising her ire momentarily; Rachel had no idea how Santana had the gall to tell her to stop expressing discontent for the position she was in. it was, frankly, terribly impolite and worthy of rebuke.

"Oh, am I just supposed to sit here like a mannequin, silent and still to save you from having to endure my presence? What, do you think I'm just going to sing cheerfully over the coming hours, or ramble on about Barbra Streisand indefinitely? Would that be a sufficient torture for you in Puck and Quinn's eyes, do you think?" She asked aggressively, or perhaps a little more aggressively than was usual for her, but it did seem to catch Santana off guard a little, the girl looking taken aback. "I do that when I'm HAPPY, Santana. Right now I just want to go home and pretend tonight didn't happen, but that's unlikely to happen for a while, so if you…"

"Berry, stop talking." The Cheerleader muttered, interrupting Rachel right at the start of her recommended plan of action to just preserve energy, avoid overheating, and share the empty calories the skittles offered until they're let out. It was rather rude.

"If you would just let me finish, Santana?" She challenged, not at all pleased with how brusque her fellow gleek was being, and if Rachel was being honest, she really was right about on her last nerve.

"No, because you're gonna go on a rant about a bunch of 'woe is me' bullshit, and whatever. You think you're in here with me to annoy me all night." Santana remarked as she tapped out a basic beat with an open hand and the pliers on her thighs, not even caring to make polite eye contact with the diva, which was rude. However, the claim of Rachel not being there to annoy her was curious.

"While I don't appreciate my emotions being dismissed, it seems as if you're privy to knowledge that would clear up exactly why I'm here, if it's not to pester you with my presence." Rachel stated, hoping the cheerleader would provide her with at least a basic idea of why, if not to annoy Santana, Quinn and Puck would trap them there together.

Santana, instead, just drummed out a steady little beat and bobbed her head along to it as the diva focused her glare, trying to will the other girl to sate her curiosity. However, with Santana not even looking up from her thighs, that seemed a fruitless effort, so she focused on Santana's movements, noticing the girl looked a little frustrated.

"If you'd like actual drumsticks, I have a pair with me I could let you borrow." Rachel offered, hoping to promote something of a truce with further hopes of gaining knowledge of what Santana was planning, and why they had been locked in a boiler room of all places.

The offer froze Santana momentarily, the girl's mouth quirking to the side for a second before she nodded, lifting her gaze to Rachel. "Yeah, that'd be cool. These kind of suck for this."

Rachel shrugged, playing it off as it was no big deal. As if the drum sticks weren't ones that Finn had left at her home accidentally one night just prior to their breakup; a memento of what they had. Still, it was a strange sort of relief, handing them off to Santana, who oddly enough gave her a smile before shifting back onto her crate.

And like that, the beat that Santana had been trying to develop became crystal clear. She'd certainly heard it often enough, given her daddy's love of The Police, and it seemed fitting as they were basically trapped and stranded alone.

Rachel watched as Santana moved items around, grabbing a smaller plastic bin to place next to the taller one, shifted around the closed tool box, and ensured that a nearby railing and pipe were within reach. And then, after testing around the sounds one last time, the cheerleader started a rough intro into 'Message in a Bottle'.

Now, Rachel was certainly surprised for a few seconds, because she'd never seen Santana behind a drum set before. It just hadn't happened in glee history. Yet, if there was one gleek who seemed as if they would fit the profile of a drummer, it was Santana; the girl really did have a flair for violence, had great sense of rhythm and was as steady as her in keeping time during choreography and in dancing during performances.

"A year has passed since I wrote my note…" Rachel sung under her breath, the shake of Santana's head nearly enough to silence her further until she saw the smile blossom on the cheerleader's lips. Taking that as encouragement, she continued. "But I should have known this right from the start. Only hope can keep me together…love can mend your life, but love can break your heart."

It occurred to Rachel that as they sang the chorus together, it was the first time they'd sang a duet together. It was, honestly a little exciting and helped to at least ensure that something good came of their predicament.

"Walked out this morning, I don't believe what I saw. A hundred billion bottles washed up on the shore." Rachel sang, cocking her head to Santana as they both swayed and grooved to the beat; it lacked the theatrics of a bass and guitar, but the odd collection of odds and ends was more than musical enough for the both of them, it seemed.

"Seems I'm not alone in being alone…a hundred billion castaways looking for a home…" Santana sang, though where the girl's voice had taken on a lower register in harmony during the chorus in support, the short solo matched Rachel's; its power, and sorrow-tinged soul adding an element to it that had the diva feeling this was a song Santana should sing in glee. It may not be appropriate for competition, but it was clearly something Santana was feeling at the moment.

They worked through the song until it was just Santana drumming quietly, brows furrowed in thought as the beat simplified for the time being.

Rachel, feeling a little warm from the heat, stripped off her sweater, not wanting to sweat to death when she had a comfortable camisole on underneath it. It drew Santana's attention, but the girl was already dressed appropriately in a thin tee and rather microscopic shorts, so no action on the cheerleader's part was needed.

"So why that song? I didn't take you as an 80's rock girl." Rachel asked, curious as to what brought about the song choice, as well as hoping for hints about why Santana had practically emanated passion and sorrow in the second half of that verse.

The shrug from the cheerleader was hardly an answer, but it was all Santana seemed willing to offer. So she did what she often did before under a likely threat of violence if it all went wrong.

"Did you sing it because you're lonely?" Rachel asked quietly, though her voice carried in the room quite easily.

Her words only drew a haughty scoff, perhaps a little too indignant to be believed. "I've got enough friends, Berry."

"I doubt that's true." Rachel shot back immediately, her face paling as soon as the words passed her lips, fearful of a physical attack from the cheerleader. And as expected, her words drew anger, but there was a flicker of hurt there which only had her feeling guiltier and needing to amend her statement before Santana could pounce on her. "Not that you can't be pleasant to be around at times, but you just…well…"

"Spit it out, Berry. Tell me what I do." Santana growled, her intensely dark eyes boring into Rachel's own soft mocha pair.

"You don't let anyone get close. Except Brittany, of course." She clarified, hoping mentioning the blonde wouldn't further antagonize Santana, and she considered herself grateful that the cheerleader only leaned back against one of the machines with a sigh.

"And look where that got us."

The sentence hung in the air for what seemed like forever as Rachel engaged in mental gymnastics to try and unravel exactly what that meant, what Santana was getting at. She struggled at how allowing someone to get closer, to be her friend, could possibly lead to them being trapped in a boiler room overnight.

"Are you saying that we're both here because you, in the confidence of friends, said or did something to make them think us being trapped together would be funny? And that…going on what you said earlier, it wasn't simply me being an annoying presence in your life?" Rachel asked as she worked through their situation verbally, still not coming up with any reasonable answers on her own. It was frustrating.

"Bingo." Santana noted with a little handgun gesture and a click of her tongue; the gesture had always confused her, as she had no idea what pop culture reference it originated from. Still, she pushed that aside, mentally, because Santana was being needlessly evasive, and she really was curious for answers.

"Would you care to clarify? I suppose if you're unwilling to inform me, I could go to Puck and bribe him for answers. My track record with double chocolate cookies is currently sitting at a perfect nine for nine, and…" Rachel began, her words trailing off when Santana shot up off the carton and leaned against the nearby railing, facing away from Rachel, unfortunately.

"They think it's funny." Santana said bitterly, shaking her head as she gripped the railing hard enough to whiten her knuckles. "Fuck, Quinn thinks it's hilarious. These past months, I thought we were getting back to good, me and her, but she's still a bitch. Even after I got her and Finn back together…sure it wasn't exactly textbook, but she got what she wanted all along. She even fucking thanked me for it two weeks ago, but then she pulled this."

Rachel shifted on her cardboard box seating to better face Santana, knowing the girl probably wanted space, but the surprising shift in the cheerleader's voice from anger and bitterness into misery concerned her.

"Quinn can be cruel. And selfish. It takes one to know one, I suppose." Rachel declared once the suffocating silence dragged on for a few seconds.

The harsh scoff from Santana echoed through the room and startled her, not expecting the fierce glare of the cheerleader to meet her own gaze as the girl looked over her shoulder. "Don't pull that pity shit, you're better than her. You have a conscience, you get guilty for hurting people."

Santana's words were at once confusing and flattering; it wasn't often that anyone told her she was better than Quinn in anything, and it was true. She did feel tremendously guilty when harming others, especially that Sunshine girl. At least, until she became a sworn rival, but nevertheless, she DID feel remorse.

"Thank you…but what does Quinn being a, quote unquote, bitch, her sense of humour, and your previously burgeoning friendship have to do with us being locked in here?" She asked, wanting to ensure that the discussion didn't derail when it was just getting started.

Santana's heavy sigh and quickly averted gaze had her wondering if maybe knowing wouldn't make their experience easier. After a few seconds, she still decided knowing was better, but now expected consequences. Santana DID seem fairly beat up about whatever it was that led to the prank.

"Look, you…you know Britt and I had a thing, right? I mean, you called us out on it. I'm not dumb, I know what sapphic means." Santana stated, her delivery clipped and hard, a rather typical trait for Santana when she was getting defensive, and Rachel could definitely understand why she could feel that way.

So she hummed in confirmation, to acknowledge the girl's words and help spur the conversation along. However, it already wasn't painting a pretty picture; sexual orientation wasn't exactly anything to laugh about, and if Quinn and Puck were pranking Santana because of it, she would have words with them. Angry words.

"Well, anyway, Q was pestering me about B, and when I'd either try to get back with her, or whether I'd go out with some dude on the football team to get some status back or whatever. It was getting real annoying, because she just kept talking as if Britt was an…an exception for me. As if I wasn't just into girls." Santana admitted, her last sentence almost too softly spoken to hear, even in the echo-friendly chamber they were in.

The confession was something of a surprise to Rachel; she'd assumed Santana was bisexual, if anything, but to hear she was strictly into girls was huge. That Santana was outing herself, even in private, was mind-boggling.

"I thought she understood, that I didn't need to tell her. So I did, and she kept pushing me for, like, evidence or some shit. As if I had to prove it. And she flipped her shit when I did." Santana noted tiredly, letting out another long sigh before turning around and leaning back against the railing. "Do I need to spell it out to you, or can I just spend the rest of the night pretending I'm in my room making preparations to assassinate Q?"

While she firmly understood the urge to put in place a quality revenge plot on Quinn for such nefarious behaviour toward a friend, Rachel honestly had zero idea what Santana was inferring. And she supposed her confused expression spoke volumes, as Santana muttered some more Spanish words and plopped back down on her crate.

"Grade six, September twenty-eighth, second recess. I hopped the fence and used the art class scissors to cut off some of Ms. Bradley's white lilacs." Santana spoke quietly, immediately bringing back the memory of that afternoon.

Rachel had been excited for recess, as she loved the fresh air, and the kids her age were going through a wall-ball and Pokémon cards craze, so she knew she'd have the swings to herself as usual. It was warm, perhaps a little muggy, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky; a reminder that despite it being fall, that summer weather bled into the next season for quite some time, usually.

Just as the bell rang, Santana had run up to her and hastily shoved the flowers in her arms; it had been an odd gift, because girls didn't give other girls flowers, and Santana had always been something of a loner at school.

"You were out of breath from running, and shoved them in my arms. I remember being really confused, but happy when you told me I was cute. No one but my parents had ever complimented me like that." Rachel recalled, blushing as she understood the other girl's intentions. It seemed patently absurd that Santana had liked her in such a way, yet with hindsight, it was rather clear. And certainly flattering, really.

"Clearly, young Santana had no game, but whatever. I liked you. But the very next class, you partnered up with Ryan Emerson and asked him out. It kind of sucked, but I got over it." Santana noted, and while she did sound sincere, she did seem sad about it, something she shook off her expression quickly. "Anyway, Q thought it was hilarious, and decided to bunk us in here to taunt me."

Rachel nodded slowly, working to suppress her anger at Quinn in order to remain calm and supportive for Santana. "Because I failed to understand your romantic gesture back in grade six?" she asked, unsure what Quinn's reasoning was.

Santana shook her head, her eyes ending up focusing back on the railing she'd been leaning on earlier, pretty much the exact opposite direction from Rachel. "Because I wasn't your first choice." Santana remarked with a sadness that couldn't be contained, the sigh following those words shuddering out of the cheerleader with a shiver. "Q probably would have put B in here if she wasn't off at a dance class tonight. Because she chose Artie…both in, like, being with him, and him being her new BFF now. And then there's my family, who have always liked my older brother more than me, and my abuela, who always liked my cousin Carmen better than me. Then there's Sue, who always picks Quinn over me. So you choosing some pimple-faced trumpet player over me…even if you didn't get what I was trying for, was icing on the cake for blondie. And so here we are, basking in a damn joke about how I'm no one's first choice, ever."

To hear Santana just list off all the examples of her being seen as second best, and watching the girl shrink in on herself to let her know the cheerleader was very much feeling second-rate, was heartbreaking. As an only child she'd never had to fight with siblings for love or attention, but she could imagine clear patterns of favouritism toward another would crush her. It was already hard enough during vocal camps when teachers would fawn over other singers, she couldn't imagine that feeling from her own family and friends.

"If…if it makes you feel better, Santana…had I known…"

"It doesn't. And you didn't. It's okay." Santana interrupted softly, scuffing her foot on the hard, concrete floor. "You were cute, you liked music, and you had two gay dads, so I figured you'd get it. I learned the hard way that in a world of 'no homo', people like me get looked over with that shit. It's never simple. And I know I have rage issues, and it's only made worse with how much gay hate there is here in Lima, and I know I'm not entitled to shit, but just once I'd like for someone to choose me, you know?"

Rachel watched tears finally spill down Santana's cheeks as the girl angled her head up to one of the rather intensely bright incandescent lights hanging from the ceiling. As confident as she was in how to support friends in difficult times, she found herself with no idea how to handle witnessing Santana Lopez falling apart mere feet away from her.

"Why am I not enough?" The tearful question came out as strangled as Rachel's heart felt from hearing the confession, and she had no idea what to do. She had no idea what to say.

She had no answer for Santana. She just didn't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know, I know. I'm a terrible person. I wasn't super happy with this one, but I think that's because I ditched the super long other idea I was thinking of for this one, knowing I just didn't have the time for it. This is one part of a possible 3 parter, but the next chapter in this archive is the next part, and provides some sort of closure, I feel.


	13. Pezberry Week '14: Free Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of "Locked In". Rachel wishes on a star and finds herself living in or dreaming of a future five years from the present day. The mere act of waking up has her rethinking her relationship with a certain fiery gleek.

Rachel would have loved for Lag B'Omer to have happened on a Saturday. Instead, it was a Sunday, which meant the next day was a school day, and even if Glee alleviated some of the disappointment and frustration, she knew she'd likely end up having to change her clothes at least once that day. Rachel was firm that no person should have to deal with such trouble, and she was sure that most teenage girls outside of Lima, Ohio wouldn't even think about the danger of slushies attacks on any day of the week.

Still, it was what would likely happen sometime during the day. Celebratory slushies were tossed out on Mondays, not only to cheer up the Neanderthal population due to the weekend being over, but also to remind the student population that the football team, which was actually succeeding this year, still had power that needed respecting.

But as Rachel sat awake with her family at a community bonfire, looking up at the cool, starry night sky, she couldn't help but wonder how far she had to go in other forms of growth. Currently, her most useful form of growth was in her self-confidence and ability to ignore the attacks made on her person; the slushies tossed her way by students was a sort of training for how the paparazzi would surely slander her in the future with words.

Mostly though, Rachel wondered how much she'd grow as a performer in the coming years, knowing her ambitions set a high bar, one that she routinely questioned. She may be a dreamer, a romantic, considerably talented, and among the most driven individuals in all of Ohio, but EGOTs weren't exactly being given out. They were a very rare feat for anyone, and barely anyone gained theirs in their twenties as she had planned out for herself. After all, there was a difference between prodigious talent and generational talent, and while she was certain she had the former, the latter was nothing she could only wager a guess on.

So when a shooting star streaked across the starlit sky, she silently made a wish to learn where she'd be five years from that day, what her life would be like. Now, Rachel Berry wasn't a fool, she knew it was just about the most absurd thing to do, as shooting stars weren't magical, they were objects entering the atmosphere and burning up. But Rachel also wasn't a purely devout skeptic, in large part from believing herself to be a tiny bit psychic, and that hope in the supernatural allowed her to feel a little comfort when she eventually readied herself for bed. When her head hit her pillow, she hoped to herself that when she woke up, her week would get off to a pleasant start.

* * *

With how clear the night was, Rachel half-expected to be blinded by the sun's rays when she stirred awake the next morning, as the forecast for the following three days had been clear. However, even with her eyes closed, she could tell it was raining; yet, that was put out of her mind in place of another curiosity when she realized the material of her bed sheets was different. It was a little smoother, sleeker, like the sheets in her hotel bed when she and her fathers had visited France the summer after sophomore year. Certainly better than her rather worn-out low thread-count sheets.

It was when Rachel opened her eyes to an entirely different room that she couldn't help but gasp, wondering where the hell she was. Off in one of the corners was a slew of improperly organized musical equipment that she didn't recognize, although there was a nice shelf partially full of scented candles that she'd splurged on, along with some other additions she didn't recall purchasing. A few trinkets and posters from her room were scattered around the new, slightly aged looking area, but it was with the turning of her head toward the bedroom door that she noticed her hair was at least two and a half or three inches shorter than normal, and certainly wavier than she would generally let it be. It was all so confusing, and she wasn't sure what was going on until she recalled her wish.

The sheer thought of her wish having come true was a little disappointing, given that she would have wished for something better had she known it would work, but nonetheless, she was giddy and intrigued as she sat up in bed and got a better look around. _This is my future! This is five years from my time…I'd be twenty-one, just getting knee deep in theatre most likely!_ She thought as she noticed a rather peculiar difference between her present and future selves. It seemed strange that she had become a messier person, her clothes strewn across the floor near the bed, and not simply one day's outfit, but at least two, it seemed.

Her mind was slowly working that curiosity over when a thin, warm arm wrapped around her waist and gently tugged at her to lay back down. Before she even looked down at the limb, a delay partially fueled by the fear and nervous anticipation of finding out who shared her bed, a familiar voice, if an abnormally pleasant one, met her ears.

"Rach, it's too early for your Keane painting wide-eyed excitement, so why don't you come back down here so you can wish me a happy birthday, 'kay?" Rachel was too stunned to keep herself from being guided back down to laying on the bed, what with hearing Santana Lopez speaking to her in a sleepy, slightly gravelly tone. Heck, it wasn't just the voice that was getting to her, the tanned arm wrapped around her waist had her fearful that the cheerleader's nails would claw into her abdomen and pull out her intestines, leaving her to a murder-filled final morning at age twenty-one. Far before her prime, certainly. At least the rainy weather would have been fitting.

After all, it had been only a weekend since the boiler room debacle, where Santana had broken down in front of her and, she'd done nothing to help. At least, not in time; she'd moved to hug the girl after a minute or so, which wasn't well received, and the rest of the night had passed in a frigid silence despite the sweltering heat of the room they'd been trapped in. Rachel was about ninety-nine percent certain that Santana Lopez hated her.

But then Santana pressed tightly against her, the girl's nose nuzzling her cheek, her arms giving Rachel a little squeeze, and her mouth letting out a happy little sigh. Santana Lopez was cuddling her on the former cheerleader's twenty-second birthday and Rachel honestly had no idea what was going on, or what she should do. If she were to be honest, she loved physical intimacy, cuddling especially, and Santana was very warm and comfy, but it didn't make her forget that the girl was an occasionally violent individual. And with Santana's very naked body pressed against her, it was only a matter of time before the girl's likely drunken-state wore off and whatever possible one-night stand they had would take a violent turn.

Still, she couldn't help but blush. The most beautiful girl at school was cuddling her, seemingly incredibly content to do so, even, and if this was all a dream, she was going to just try to enjoy it while it lasted. It was about seventeen seconds before she realized that perhaps there wouldn't be a violent turn, the realization punctuated by Santana's lips peppering her face and neck with fleeting little kisses. It was a situation that was so against how she saw Santana Lopez that she couldn't help her nervous giggles, or her body from shooting back up to a sitting position, physically turning to ensure she was facing the girl so that she wouldn't be taken by surprise again.

Santana, a sleepy grin spread across her lips, reached out to pull her back down again, giving her this look as if she was silently trying to figure out what amusing game she was playing. And that just had Rachel scooting out of Santana's reach, because she never amused Santana unless she was failing at or being humiliated in something, and Santana was never patient with her back in grade six when she'd been given flowers and complimented. It had been a hurried little offer, and the taller girl had seemed sad at her lack of immediate response. So the odds of her amusing Santana in a good-natured way? It just didn't happen; sure, they weren't arch-enemies, but Santana certainly wasn't a friend of hers, what with her happily having helped to break her and Finn up.

It was that memory, as well as the current situation, that immediately had her reeling and feeling dizzy, a firm hand quickly grabbing her hands and keeping her from toppling over the edge of the bed. Santana HAD admitted to liking her in grade six, but if that attraction had endured, Santana's breakdown only seemed that much more heartbreaking. "Baby, what's wrong? Are you alright?" Santana asked softly with a level of concern and urgency that had her feeling a little dizzier, unsure what to even think about the woman holding her up and biting her lip as she scanned Rachel over for any possible injuries. _Did…did she like me still earlier in the year? Enough to facilitate myself and Finn's break-up to give herself an opportunity? Was there something I missed?_

"I'm not sure." Rachel answered simply and honestly, because her head was a mess, and she wasn't at all sure how to handle the thought of being together with Santana. Rachel had been attracted to her on a physical level for quite some time, certainly, but they had lacked compatibility on nearly every other measure. Or, at least, so she had once thought, but five years after her junior year of high school, and she was waking up in a bed with Santana cuddling her and fussing over her health like she truly cared.

A few blinks later to clear her vision and she was pretty sure it wasn't _like_ Santana truly cared for her, but instead was clear as day that she really _did_. She knew that look in Santana's eye; it was close to how Santana had looked at Brittany after Shawn Collins had called the blonde a retard in ninth grade, just before Brittany fell sobbing into the raven-haired beauty's arms.

But instead of Santana quickly looking around with a fury for whatever could have made the person she cared for upset or hurt, the woman ran a hand through those raven locks to get it out of her face, and then brought both hands behind her back. "I know you get even more upset sometimes when you're confused and scared and people touch you, so I won't, 'kay?" Santana asked slowly and carefully, maintaining eye contact with her, and all Rachel could do was nod and wonder. It had taken years for her dad to notice that issue of hers, and both Finn and Jesse never caught on. That Santana had realized she didn't like it, and had nailed the exact conditions for when it was applicable, had her feeling warm despite the apparently chilly downpour outside judging by the window on the far side of the room and the sound of the old furnace creaking on.

Rachel was just about to ask how she came to know that about her when Santana's movement stilled the words on her tongue, her potential partner shuffling toward her little by little, stopping just inches from Rachel. "Is this about you not getting called back about that film you auditioned for?" Santana asked, her face so close now, worried dark brown eyes boring into her own mocha pair.

She had absolutely no idea what Santana was talking about, but her previous confusion was starting to dissipate given the raven-haired girl's tenderness in handling her potentially out of character behaviour, and she wanted to hear more about this look into her future career prospects. So, once again, she silently nodded.

Santana smiled softly at her, as if she'd encountered this very conflict before many times, and leaned her head closer to Rachel's. Not for a kiss, however, but to merely touch foreheads, leaving a millimeter or two between them so that Rachel had the choice to connect if she wanted to. And, honestly, she did. "Rach, no matter what, I'm still totes proud of you. I don't care if you don't have your EGOT by twenty-five, okay? Winning a Tony at your age is amazing as hell already. And so what if you're not a fit for some stupid movie about euthanasia as a crappy allegory about the loss of faith? Their loss, your gain, mi preciosa."

The information overload was admittedly fairly overwhelming, but the tactful play on her vanity was reassuring; it had historically been the easiest way to calm her and make her happy, and knowing Santana knew that was pretty great. Sure, it was self-indulgent and vain, but Rachel couldn't help but break out into a bright smile as thoughts of winning a Tony filled her head, nor could she contain the squeal of glee that followed suit.

Santana's quiet laughter brought her out of her happy place, though, and back to the current situation, where Santana's hands were resting on her knees, the girl's eye contact still unwavering aside from the odd time they flitted down toward her lips. "Are you feeling better now?" Santana asked, and when she nodded once more, she really should have expected what came next.

Soft lips met her own in a kiss that was all at once sensual and scary, shocking and familiar, wild and safe. Rachel was barely cognizant of the feel of Santana's hands relocating on her waist, instead choosing to place her focus solely on Santana's mouth that was drawing muted gasps and moans from her involuntarily as the sheer passion and need the other girl fed into the kiss overwhelmed her. It was a heady feeling as their mouths met again and again with a slow fervor, Rachel's body leaning hard into Santana as if it was the only thing holding her up, her hands stroking up and down the woman's back for some extra connection to her lover's gloriously nude body.

When Santana's tongue met her own, her body reacted as if on autopilot, rotating them around and pushing Santana back down onto the bed, her mouth following in pursuit to once more connect hers with Santana's smiling lips. It took a second to realize she was on top of a naked Santana, kissing her senseless, and only just one more additional second for the taller girl's legs to wrap around Rachel's hips and keep them both locked snugly together. It wasn't as if she hadn't made out with Finn on top of him; he was so much bigger than her that it just made sense to be on top. However, Santana was the sexually experienced one, Santana was the aggressive one, Santana was someone she'd always pictured as a stereotypical top. To find out that Santana very willingly and happily put herself in a position of looking up at HER during a moment of sexual intimacy? Well. She had to remind her heart to keep beating.

And she had to keep focusing on Santana, running her palms up the woman's silky smooth sides, grazing her bare breasts, in order to fight back against the performance anxiety threatening to take her over. Sure, Rachel had instinctual pulls toward certain physical responses, as if there were memories at the corner of her mind where she'd done this before, but she couldn't shake the fear. When their lips parted the next time, she went to lean back, only for Santana to pull her back down and nibble her neck delightfully.

And just like that, she knew she wanted this. She wanted to be intimate with Santana, she wanted to feel the woman who she had went to bed with, who was supportive, caring, sweet, gentle and so unbelievably beautiful. She wanted to feel the woman who was lovingly fostering a deep, intense attraction beating within the diva. Age twenty one wasn't so far from twenty-five; she could break from her future plans by a tiny bit.

"I'm sorry if I'm uncoordinated and sloppy, Santana, I know…" Rachel began, Santana's teeth nipping deliciously at her pulse point interrupting her as a surprised yelp left her throat.

Santana shifted beneath her and cupped Rachel's face, ensuring eye contact once more. It was almost scary how often Santana actually wanted to look at her directly, and how open the girl's emotions were on her face when she did so. "Baby, I'll tell you again…I love you. I love you, and whatever you want to give me, whatever you want from me, is always going to be enough."

Rachel blinked back tears at the unexpected confession, feeling breathless with emotion at how reassuring Santana was about everything, and especially how that four letter word was casually, and sincerely, tossed in there. That she felt as if her heart was turning to goo, the same feeling she had right when she knew she loved Finn, was the final piece of the puzzle.

"Can you say that again, please?" She asked shyly, her cheeks likely as red as they'd ever been, but Santana wasn't mocking her in turn for the request. No, Santana was giving her this adoring look and grazing her fingertips against Rachel's shoulders distractedly, as if Rachel had all her attention in every way possible.

Santana, not a dull-minded individual, widened her smile. "I love you, Rachel." The girl noted softly, before a familiar mischievousness took over Santana's expression. "Now come on, it's totes my birthday and we're up way too early. So can you come back down here and gimme some more sugar, boo?"

Rachel had been more than a little anxious at first but she very much did get into the giving mood. To the count of two times for each of them, feeling it was important to be in accordance with equal opportunity when it came to orgasms. Honestly, it was fascinating, being able to passionately claim Santana beneath her, sending her lover into a loud, consciousness-relieving climax that now had the raven-haired woman napping contently beside her. Definitely something to write about in her achievement journal.

She couldn't help but giggle again in disbelief at how it had managed to escalate to that so quickly, and how quickly she got to be comfortable with it all, being a virgin and all. _Well, perhaps not a virgin in this time…but still…that was incredibly intense, and if I don't write a portion of a chapter of my memoirs about this moment sometime in the future, I'll have certainly gone insane._ She thought, smiling down at the sleeping beauty snuggled against her.

It may have been new, with her not even ninety minutes into her future, but she knew one thing for certain. It was only solidified when she peppered Santana's face with kisses to rouse her from slumber, her lover's immediate bleary-eyed goofy grin making her confident that this woman fit her. Santana was likely still rather flawed in an assortment of ways, but Rachel had an incredibly good feeling, one she chalked up to her psychic abilities, that let her be sure that Santana would be it for her.

"I love you." She noted tenderly as she planted a deliberate chaste kiss to her smiling love's lips, recalling each and every impassioned declaration Santana had made during their lovemaking. How Santana's 'Good Morning Kiss' had found the woman's lizard-like tongue deep within her, Rachel's thighs snug against Santana's head as she experienced possibly the best part of waking up, beating out Folgers and tea and her trusty elliptical with ease.

Santana's arms were a little uncoordinated due to the woman's grogginess, but she was pulled closer into a tighter, more entangled hug with her apparent girlfriend. Despite the absolutely lovely feeling of being in bed with Santana Lopez, enjoying post-orgasmic bliss, Rachel had the rest of the day ahead of her. There was so much more to learn!

"San, I need to get up, I need to...I need to get up and start my day." She whispered, only resulting in Santana wrapping her up in her limbs like a python. It was cute and felt rather nice, and the lure of sleep was coming on due to Santana's immense heat, but she had to find out more. It was a wish, after all. Not every day that those came true.

"Baby, the stage is dark today. It's dark every Thursday, and every Thursday it's my job to make sure you rest up. You perform every other day of the week, and I slave away at scripts on those days, so this is our day. Ours. We sleep in, rest up, watch Netflix, make homemade pizzas and tarts, and then work the calories off with hours of hot sex. The hottest. Especially since it's my birthday. You can spend another half hour here with me before breakfast, okay? It's not even seven yet." Santana mumbled sleepily, nuzzling against Rachel's cheek in a manner that had her lose control of her bodily functions it was so sweet. Suddenly, a half an hour didn't seem like such a bad delay, given the day's plans. It even seemed a bit necessary, and the fact that Santana was looking out for her health had her sinking further into her love's embrace.

"Alright. I think I can do that, birthday girl." She answered, her smile broken by giggles when Santana kissed her temple, forehead and nose before returning to nuzzle her cheek. It was such a corny gesture, but it really did make her feel loved. Cherished even. And Rachel only hoped that the future Rachel cherished Santana equally, because it hadn't taken long to learn that Santana was wonderful to her.

When Santana began softly singing Coldplay's 'Parachutes', she let her eyelids droop and close, breathing in the mix of vanilla-cinnamon and Santana's pure scent before slipping into a blissful sleep.

* * *

Rachel woke up Monday morning in Lima, feeling entirely refreshed and happy despite the low hours of sleep she'd gained. However, she'd slept through her alarm, and had to rush through her usual routine. She barely had time to think as she showered, dressed, packed up her breakfast for later, and kissed her dads goodbye. It was miraculous that she made it to school on time, which could have been helped by speeding, but Rachel Berry was no delinquent.

She rushed to her locker, happy to see the jocks too busy at the moment getting to classes to worry about slushying her, and grabbed her books for her AP English class that followed homeroom. It was a brief trek to the classroom, Rachel just making it in time for the final bell, though her usual seat had been taken by Karen Doxtater, leaving only two seats available.

It was with a sort of bliss that Rachel noticed one of the seats was at the back of class, directly beside Santana. Just seeing the girl brought back fresh memories of, well, whatever had happened. Whether it had been true wish-driven time travel or just a very vivid dream, she couldn't stop thinking about it. Mrs. Rowengartner made some statement to her about getting to her seat, she was sure, but she was too focused on Santana to really care, striding slowly toward the increasingly grimacing girl.

Rachel, as she took her seat beside a clearly perturbed Santana, knew she'd never be able to look at the cheerleader the same again. However, with some luck and Berry-grade determination, she was pretty sure she wouldn't have to. She paid no heed to the scowl on Santana's face, choosing to remember the goofy expression the girl wore when she'd roused her with kisses instead. She didn't buy that Santana was disgusted by her anymore; her suspicions of Santana breaking her and Finn up to give herself an opportunity was one thing, but she figured the brief look into the future confirmed that there was definitely an attraction. And even if it was a dream, Santana HAD admitted to a prior attraction in elementary.

While she was skeptical the future she glimpsed would remain the one she was currently careening toward, knowing that small changes very likely caused shifts from one potential future toward others, Rachel knew she'd make one with the girl who made her feel special. She just needed a little time, was all. Certainly longer than thirty minutes, or even a day, but not five years.

Santana Lopez would be hers in time. And perhaps the key to getting that ball rolling was through one Quinn Fabray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This caps off my Pezberry Week 2014 pieces, with day 4's Road Trip entry being a standalone piece due to its size. Hope you enjoyed these!


	14. Fuck Marry Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana’s sober at the last gleek party before everyone moves away. Really stupid predictable party games happen, until Rachel stops being predictable entirely. (One-shot, Rachel/Santana friendship/budding-romance)

The final glee party of the summer was also officially the final sendoff, what with most of her fellow gleeks heading off to their futures within days or even hours of the party's end. And, just like always, Santana Lopez had drawn the long straw and had pulled the shitty sober duty in case the booze ran out midway through. Of course, it didn't, as she'd predicted all week given how half of the group were lightweights, but by the time that conclusion was officially reached, the gleeks had slowed their drinking to the point where it'd just be obnoxious to catch up and go from sober to blitzed. So it kind of blew like that.

Honestly, she really had just wanted to get hammered early on, given her own uncertain future was looming on the horizon, scaring the shit out of her. Not that she'd admit as much, though. She wasn't an idiot, that would be prime blackmail material. So would acknowledging that she was already lonely, and knew it'd just get worse when she moved to Kentucky or wherever she'd go. Santana hadn't quite written off just abandoning college in favour of figuring her shit out beforehand, after all. The only comfort she could grab from the current situation was that most couples she knew would be doing the long distance thing or breaking up. Hey, misery was company. Lots of singles and soon to be singles, and yes, she was jaded. Yes, Santana was bitter that she got outed for loving Britt when they weren't even together, and hadn't been for some time. It was like a goddamn cosmic joke.

She watched from the doorway to the kitchen as the group cycled into yet another game. Why they would stop drinking in favour of games that promoted drinking was beyond Santana's ability to reason, but they seemed determined to confuse her tonight. Basically everyone but her and Q were blitzed, so she couldn't be surprised when Puck shouted out they were starting 'Fuck-Marry-Kill', earning the cheers of the rest of the slightly rowdy, mostly tired gleeks.

Feeling a little intrigued, Santana moved from the doorframe to the empty loveseat, figuring those drunken declarations tended to be pretty hilarious, even from the lamer gleeks of the group.

* * *

"Tina, Quinn, Brittany." Those were the three names Sam offered Santana on her first turn through the game, a few minutes into the spectacle, and the group predictably went silent. The last few had featured celebrities and superheroes, which had the group in high spirits and laughing, so the shift to other gleeks for the first time seemed to catch everyone off guard. Including Santana, who shot the fish-lipped boy a pointed glare, knowing she was officially fucked.

"This is entrapment!" She complained, and though the blondes and Tina weren't entirely enthusiastic, the rest of the group goaded her on to fulfill the terms of the game. Santana took a moment to decide that when Q's burying her alive, to relay her tombstone message clearly as a big middle finger to Sam. "Ugh, fine, but seriously, not cool."

It took a few moments for the rowdy gleeks to calm down enough to where her voice could be heard, any outside conversations shifting to whispers to allow her opportunity to speak clearly. "I'd fuck Britt…" Santana noted, giving Artie a pointed look in hopes he understood that her saying as much wasn't a threat to he and B's relationship. "…if she were single, of course. And I'd marry Tina, because she's always been pretty chill to me, and we get along well enough. I love you Q, and I'd both fuck and marry you…"

Santana let the crowd erupt in raucous laughter at her words, Quinn's seething glare burning a path through them to Santana's blushing cheeks at the understanding that' she was officially on the blonde's shit list. "Anyway, like I was saying, I'd fuck and marry you, Q, but if we did, we'd both end up killing each other with knives or orgasms, so I'm just looking out for both of our hearts here."

At Quinn's huff she settled back in her seat, thankful that was all over with. At least, until her frenemy hit her upside the head with a shovel and dragged her into a freshly dug seven foot deep grave. Even on light booze intake, Q was definitely the stereotypical mean drunk. Santana could only offer an apologetic frown across the room, hoping her sort-of bestie wouldn't hold yet another multi-month long grudge against her.

A few more turns went around, keeping with the gleek theme, before Artie, looking a little too drunk, gave Rachel a trio that had Santana rolling her eyes out of the predictability of it all.

"Puck, Santana, Mike." The cyborg asked, earning some playful ooohs and aaahs that were entirely unjustified, because fuck if there wasn't a more predictable set of three names for Berry. Santana knew she'd get killed, for obvious reasons. Rachel would fuck Puck, because the girl did sort of want all up on him back in sophomore year, and she'd marry Mike, who was creative and kind. Easy peasy.

Rachel giggled drunkenly for about the thousandth time that night, before taking another tiny sip of her cooler. Honestly, if Berry wasn't so drunk, Santana would have accused the girl of backwash, but the tiny sips were somehow taking their toll on the tiny featherweight. However, once that sip was over, Berry's face went dead serious in thought, even if it was fairly clear the diva was having a difficult time processing much of anything in her inebriated state.

And then, as could always be expected from the diva given her quickly shifting emotions when blitzed, a bright smile took over Berry's lips. "I would…I would have sexual intercourse with Mike." The diva announced to surprised fanfare, and Santana rolled her eyes, knowing Rachel was too plastered to even know what she was talking about anymore. "He is limber, has excellent stamina, and I have heard enough interesting stories from Tina about his prowess to know that she's a very lucky girl."

Tina shot Rachel a bashful, perhaps a little embarrassed smile at that remark, but Santana was starting to get confused, because that reasoning made a weird sort of sense, meaning maybe Berry could think complex thoughts even while plastered. Which meant she'd marry Puck? Santana knew the girl's faith was important to her, but didn't think it was to the point where she'd feel as if she had to marry within her culture. That hadn't mattered with Finn or Jesse.

"I would also kill Noah, because despite our shared Jewish ancestry, he has not been a proper gentleman to me since I was seven years old, and has not heeded my continual requests that he stop referring to me as his 'hot Jewish American princess' at temple, which has made my time and activities there thoroughly frustrating and embarrassing, and he has also ignored my complaints about his going to that stupid, barbaric fight club!" Rachel rambled, her anger seeping from her words as every second passed until she was nearly breathing fire at the mohawked idiot. "If you wish to get beaten up so badly, Noah, I would be happy to take that role and get the job done on a more permanent basis!"

Santana ignored the gleeks who rushed Rachel to calm the drunken diva down, too confused at whatever the fuck was going on to really focus on Puck's guilty expression, or the fact that Rachel looked like she actually was on the brink of deciding murder was a desirable life choice.

Rachel had offered Mike as her sex partner, and Puck as the one she'd kill. That left one remaining entry that was absolutely, literally unbelievable, and would complete the shattering of the predictable list she thought she'd be getting an earful over.

Eventually, Rachel's voice carried its sound to her ears, drawing Santana out of her daze to hear the diva's assuredly confusing words, no doubt. It was kind of frustrating, though, since as soon as Berry began speaking again, the group practically roared with shock and disbelief. "…marry Santana…yes, Santana…for her devout loyalty, protectiveness, and passion, all three traits which I feel would benefit me in my life of being a star. And certainly, she holds the sex appeal to maintain my interest, and the character to keep challenging me to not get complacent."

By the time Rachel's mini ramble-fest finished, the gleeks were quiet as hell, whether from stunned disbelief or a loss of words, she wasn't quite sure. Honestly, Santana really wasn't sure what to even think, let alone say, as her gaze met Rachel's big brown doe eyes, the diva's questioning expression stirring something inside her.

Santana held the gaze as she slumped back against the loveseat, considering the diva's words. Rachel felt she was loyal, which was damn easy to peg, because hells yes she was. Under the insane hypothetical situation that Berry was her loud, divatastic wife, there would never be a question of whether she'd always be there for the singer. It was just who she was, it was in her nature, same with the whole protective streak. Berry wouldn't come to harm with her around, safety would just be a given if they inexplicably managed to have that sort of relationship.

Sure, they'd have verbal spats and disagreements over stupid shit, and maybe she'd take a comfy couch some nights if shit went down on another level where they needed cooler heads to work things out. And maybe she'd get pissy if Rachel kept harping on her about how she should switch to a vegan lifestyle, but she also couldn't deny that there would be some positives. For one, Berry had the best legs of anyone in glee, and that was a fact. Secondly, so long as Rachel wasn't in her selfish diva bubble, she could be tremendously thoughtful and sweet, which was a lot of what she needed and looked for in a romantic partner. Except, Rachel would have the ability to adapt and realize that pages of devil stickers, while awesome, only held so much utility, so other sweet things could be done for her as well. That noted, she knew that sometimes, Rachel's idea of being sweet was sharing her personal interests, which probably would involve a lot of tickets to Broadway shows. However, there WERE some damn good plays out there, like Spring Awakening, Into the Woods, and RENT.

Berry would keep her on her freshly pedicured toes as well, and would push her to be successful or whatever too, even if she'd probably be a tactless bitch in doing so. But no way would Santana hurt her wife. No fucking way in hell. She was already a pit bull when it came to her acquaintances, and an iron-fisted dictator when it came to others treating her close friends poorly. There was no way to measure what she'd be like if someone even thought to hurt her hypothetical wife.

So with that settled, she offered the diva a slow nod of acknowledgement, feeling way too many eyes on her at the moment. Fuck people being nosy bitches, she needed to think a bunch of shit over. Like, yeah, she was passionate as hell; again, it was her nature. Even if she didn't show it too often, she was like Rachel in that they both only had two ways of doing things: awesome or not at all. So her passion leaked through her gymnastics, her dancing, her music, and of course Berry would pick up on that like a damned bloodhound. The girl was like a weird, living tuning fork, and could just sense that shit.

Santana nodded to herself once more, physically recognizing that was a big part of why she always found time to smile at Berry during the musical numbers. It just felt like a natural reaction during a song, when she'd eventually receive the diva's attention; the girl would always check on her to make sure she was legit into it, and because she always was, it'd just always seem to make Berry a bit happier. Santana had previously chalked it up to the girl probably just liking that she was being more open and enthusiastic, helping some sort of group cohesion measure the diva likely had cooked up on a spreadsheet somewhere. Now, though, the singer's answers gave a different interpretation. And she thanked her younger self for smiling back all those times.

The slamming of a door shook Santana from her thought process, noticing considerably less people were in the living room. Well, it WAS a little past three in the morning, and Finn was passed out on the chair across from her, while Mike looked right about comatose, lying at the foot of a nearby couch.

Knowing she'd best get to her rounds to make sure no one broke her parents' shit in a sleepy, drunken stupor, she got to her feet and went from room to room, detailing who was still around and who must have left. When she reached the laundry room at the back of the house, it seemed everyone remained in the house somewhere, though Berry was a ghost. The girl's jacket was still hung up, and her shoes were still in the front foyer, but Berry was just flat out missing. Didn't make any sense, because Santana knew the diva couldn't stay quiet for long, and it'd already been a ten minute scouring of the premises.

Which, of course, is when her eyes darted to the sound of rain spattering against the window, helping her realize that someone HAD left the house, after all. Grumbling to herself over the sheer audacity of drunken gleeks forcing her out in the middle of a cold rainstorm in the middle of the night, Santana slipped on her dad's rain boots and the leather jacket she'd treated yesterday, and headed outside on a mission.

It wasn't a particularly difficult mission.

In fact, it was the easiest one she'd ever undertaken, because there was Berry in all her diva glory, perched on her childhood tree swing, looking all glum and rain-soaked, which probably weren't unrelated.

"Berry!" Santana called out, grimacing at the fact that she'd only been outside for maybe five seconds, and her hair was already soaked to all hell. If that wasn't anger-inducing enough, the diva flat out ignored her. "Ugh, RACHEL!"

Her second attempt gained the singer's attention enough to have the girl staring in her direction sadly as Santana closed the distance across the spongy rain saturated ground. It was cold for a mid-summer night, it was damn dark, and it was close to the time the sun would be coming back up, so there was no reason to be outside in the fucking rain. Yet, there she was, standing in front of Rachel Barbra Berry, who was wearing just her dress and swinging her muddy bare feet listlessly. Not wearing her jacket, or any gloves, boots, hat or anything else that could have sheltered the diva from the rain. Santana honestly would have screamed in frustration if she wasn't sure her jackass neighbor would call in a noise complaint.

"What the hell are you doing out here?!" Santana seethed, though her anger slowly dissipated, noticing how Rachel was shivering like she was in the damn arctic or something, her eyes wide with fright at her initial tone. And really, she didn't want that to be the way she sent the insufferable diva off into the world. "Christ, Berry…what are you doing?" She asked, more gently this time, but with a hell of a lot of emphasis on how frustrated she was that she had to be out there to coax the girl back inside. Thankfully, Berry seemed thoroughly aware of that, and seemed a little shamed by it.

"Y…you can go back i…inside now, Santana. I'm n…not done being prop…operly dramatic yet." Berry chattered out, sounding every bit like a stereotypically frozen cartoon character. It seemed that not even the elements could keep Rachel from being a dramatic idiot.

Sighing over the stupidity of the situation, Santana shrugged off her jacket and wrapped it around Berry's shoulders, the cold pounding of the rain immediately stinging her bare shoulders, only to be icily caressed with the chill of the wind. It only highlighted how unpleasant it was outside, and how dumb Berry was for hanging out at her tree for whatever stupid dramatic reason she concocted.

"Tough shit, Rachel." She grit out, though her actions didn't quite match her words in carefully extracting the diva from her tire swing. "You can be dramatic twice as long inside if that's what you're into."

"Clearly, you d…don't care what I'm into, so why ev…even bother? Let me wallow…ow in my dramatics." Rachel stammered out, the chill clearly having gotten to the girl, which really wasn't surprising, since it was a hair under fifty outside.

Santana wasn't sure what to make of the girl's words, so she just took hold of the diva and marched her quickly back to the house and led her inside to where it was much drier and warmer. Resigned to the fact that she was entirely soaked, Santana unzipped her dress after slipping off her dad's boots, laying the garment across the dryer before turning her focus to Rachel, hoping the diva wouldn't be too offended by her state of undress.

Rachel was a downright mess, looking like the epitome of a drowned rat, size and all. And like rats, she wasn't gonna let one scurry around her home all willy-nilly, tracking mud all over the floor. Santana reached out and hesitantly took Rachel's wrist, unsure really how to feel about what she was going to have to do, and led her closer to the sinks set up for hand washing clothes. Feeling thankful for being sober, and for Sue's relentless practices, Santana picked Berry up and set her down on the edge of the washer so that her feet dangled over one of the sinks.

"Just gonna get that mud off you, okay?" She asked rhetorically as she started the water, ensuring it was warm because fuck the cold. They were both cold enough as it was, so warm just seemed like an awesome idea if they were both going to stay wet for a little while longer. Thankfully, Berry just nodded, her eyes half lidded in seeming exhaustion, though focusing on something in the opposite direction of her. It was likely WAY past the hobbit's bed time.

Santana worked at a decent pace, too tired and cold to really will any sort of speed out of her tired, shivering limbs, but at least her hands were warm. That was a plus. And Rachel's feet were actually kind of normal sized, too, which was good to know. And they were soft, too. Not that she cared, but it let her know the singer took care of herself head to toe, which seemed oddly important as she was massaging the dirt out of the grooves in Berry's skin. She tried not to feel it was important that Rachel refused to look remotely in her direction, either.

Eventually, the damn things got clean, and her hands had thawed out enough to have some dexterity back in them, feeling at least a little of the deliciously comfy warmth her bed would soon promise her. But first, she had to deal with Rachel, and that meant getting the girl dry. Santana scanned the room, quickly spotting some fresh towels on the shelf before thrusting two onto the table beside Rachel.

"You're soaked, like I was, so let's forget about the wanky double entendres and just get you dry, okay?" She asked, stepping around the diva and cautiously sliding the zipper of Berry's dress down her back until she had enough clearance to slip the dress to the floor. That Rachel remained uncharacteristically silent about it all was a massive surprise, Santana having expected Berry to go on a rant about personal boundaries, privacy, sexual purity, and all that jazz. Instead, she just stood still, barely even breathing.

Still, Santana was thankful for the lack of interruption, as it allowed her to slip off the girl's bra and replace it with a fluffy towel around Berry's torso in one swift move. Once a knot was set to hold it in place, Santana worked Rachel's hair into a turban and stepped away, telling Rachel that she could take care of the rest. For how still Berry had been the rain-drenched panties were off in less than the minute it took Santana to position both dresses where they could dry neatly, letting her take the diva upstairs to her room, knowing the other gleeks had very likely taken the remaining spots.

Normally Q or B slept with her, but it didn't seem to be the case tonight, B sleeping with Artie and Q holding that icy, icy grudge. Rachel was definitely a nice choice too, though, given their history and the recent developments. And it could be cool to be the taller one in bed for once.

While Rachel was distracted with some of the pictures on her dresser, Santana changed into her regular nightly attire of a t-shirt and shorts, the routine aspect of it just further sending her closer to the goal of getting in some quality sleep. She pulled out a similar pair of sleep clothes for Rachel and gave the girl a nudge before dropping them in Berry's arms.

"Because I doubt you'd want to sleep nude in the same bed as me." She noted cheekily, but it was the truth. Santana was pretty sure that even if she was somehow a contender for the position of wife in Rachel's life story, it didn't change that she'd never really noticed Berry looking at her like THAT before. At least, she didn't think so, but there WERE a few odd looks over the years. Okay, maybe more than a few. "You can get in them, right? You're not too sore?" Her second string of words was answered yet again by a silent nod, which was starting to get unnerving, but whatever. Not like anything huge was happening right then. Not at all.

Not allowing herself any time to stew on related possibilities, she quickly slid into bed, getting comfy on her usual left side, allowing her limbs one last good stretch before sleep. It'd take about a minute of audible struggling before Santana would see Rachel walk to the other side of the bed, gingerly crawling in and remaining as close to that edge as possible. Almost as if she were scared of Santana; such a thought might have felt like victory in freshman year, but it stung her heart as the cool summer rain pelted against her windows.

So she did what she used to when her friends or little cousins were reluctant to do anything remotely intimate with her during sleepovers. She crossed that queen sized mattress and shuffled into the space right beside Rachel, pulling her pillows with her so that they could each have their own while being close enough to pool their body heat to some degree. Not that she was some mythical cuddle monster named Snixx or anything. Not that Rachel was like Q, because she'd only ever thought of Q platonically, whereas with Rachel, there had been a few instances of murky thoughts of attraction. That didn't matter, though, because Berry was cold and drunk and needed to get warm again. Her actions hadn't scared the diva away or seemed to cause any panic whatsoever, so Santana figured it was best to just focus on sleep.

However, Rachel's shivering didn't take long to reveal its true form as strained sobs were torn from the smaller diva, immediately grabbing Santana's attention. "Hey…what's up?" She successfully fought her voice to not crack as it felt it might have, from hearing Rachel cry. Just the sound alone had her insides twisting like a hibernaculum of snakes. Crying girls had always made her feel sort of empathetic and maternal, and while she didn't entirely mind feeling like that, it could be a little troublesome at times.

"Nothing, nothing, I'm…I'm sorry, I'll be quiet." Rachel answered meekly, shuffling so close to the damn edge of the mattress that Santana was positive another inch would shift the balance enough to have Berry toppling to the floor. Which simply wouldn't do, so she reached out, rested her hands on the diva's stomach, and lightly pulled Berry closer, within a half foot of them spooning, even. Which, whatever, sharing heat and shit. She pulled her hands back to her sides just to make sure she sent the right message and stuff. Probably.

"Whatever, you're drunk, and drunks do a lot of shit. I don't even know what's got you apologizin', so whatever. Not a big deal, tiny." Santana answered quietly, hoping to calm the diva down enough so that they could both just rest and get some shuteye.

"I'm going to be alone." Those five words from Rachel's lips stilled Santana, rendering her incapable of forming even a single word of acknowledgement, because fuck. It was as if the damn diva was on the same wavelength she was on whenever Santana let herself worry about the future. "I made all these wonderful, if flawed, friends here, and now I'm going to be alone again, and I won't even have my dads."

Santana felt much the same. Most of her life, she'd been short on friends, Britt being the only mainstay since fourth grade. If she kept on her current path, she'd be in Louisville in a few weeks, all alone in Kentucky, far away from Britt and Q and all the insufferable gleeks her heart had reluctantly warmed to over their time together. Deep down in the pits of her heart where no light could penetrate, she could admit that she'd miss them all. Even Rachel. Maybe especially Rachel.

Honestly, she wasn't one to make sappy feel good speeches or pep talks, they made her uncomfortable. Still, though, the gnawing feeling in her chest had her knowing she needed to say something. "Maybe for a bit, yeah. But school will start, and it won't be a hellhole like McKinley. You'll be among your kind, all weirdly proportioned forest people with affinities for musical theater." Santana whispered calmly, her words wafting against the bare skin of Rachel's neck. "They'll get your crazy right away, and you'll make friends. And you might miss us, but you'll have them, you know? They'll be a distraction until they're as big a part of your lives as we were. And you'll be happy, you'll live your dreams, and you'll be fine. Don't sweat it."

"How can you be so sure?" Rachel's voice shook with emotion, but amongst the whispered syllables was hope, and that seemed like a legitimately good thing to run with.

"You're Rachel Berry. I've known you since third grade, and you're going into an art school. It might suck for a bit, being in a city of eight million people and not really knowing anyone, but that'll change… you're too friendly and ambitious for it not to. And hell, if you need to, you got a bunch of gleeks to call if you're feeling down or stressed or whatever." Santana answered, hoping Berry would stop being so worried about her future, given it was looking damn bright. In northwestern Ohio, among Neanderthals, of course Berry would get bullied and socially neglected, but in a city that championed her brand of crazy? Nah.

Rachel twisted around, shifting in place to face Santana, fresh tear tracks crossing over the diva's nose and down to her temples. Rachel had never been much of a crier, even when drunk, so Santana knew this was something that really had Berry messed up, for the diva to not have wrested control of her emotions back by that point.

"You'll all be too busy for me. You'll forget me." Rachel mumbled sadly, bringing a hand up to wipe lazily at her face, as if the evidence of her tears would be retroactively forgotten by her efforts.

"As if you'd let that happen." Santana laughed quietly, resting a hand on the crook of Berry's elbow as a sign of support. Not that any sort of touch was a sign of support, or that hers was a particularly good one, but she figured she needed to do something. Seeing Rachel sad made her stomach feel weird. And apparently made her head weird too. "Anyway, I have no idea what I'll be doing, so you could always call me, so long as you don't treat me like some one eight-hundred support line at all hours of the day. My phone does have a minutes plan."

Santana honestly wasn't too sure why she offered, but the watery smile Rachel shot her felt like whatever nuisances her promises would force on her in the future, it would be worth it somehow.

"You'd really do that? You'd pick up the phone?" Rachel asked with an oddly wondrous tone, as if she were asking for an answer to some mystical question that had remained a puzzle to human society for ages. It was a little absurd, but Rachel was drunk, and insanely dramatic, so it wasn't entirely out of the ordinary.

"Forty-two days, right? As weird as it is to say, we're friends, Rachel." Santana answered with a chuckle, a little amused at the girl's open emotions, though she felt a little caught off guard when Rachel shuffled forward, closing the gap as she rested her head on Santana's shoulder.

"Friends who live half a day away from each other. You say this now, San." She felt a little flutter in her chest from Rachel's shortened version of her name, and took a moment to wrap her head around that before pushing on to once again address the girl's insecurities. She knew Rachel had some abandonment issues after that bitch Shelby basically toyed with the diva's well being, but she didn't think that had extended to her friends. Apparently, it did.

"It's…it's not a big deal, Rachel." She answered, feeling a bit like an idiot for just not having the words to express what she wanted to say. The sad, unimpressed scoff from Berry only further clarified that. "What I mean to say is, I'm a city girl at heart. The New York trip in junior year was probably the most fun I'd had in high school. I'll visit." She continued, hoping that reassurance would stick instead of coming across as an improvised fumbled mess.

Santana expected some sort of disagreement or disbelieving comment, but Berry just balled a hand into a fist and lightly pounded it against her shoulder a few times. For what reason, Santana wasn't sure. "Come to New York, then. Move there, not Kentucky."

She couldn't help but laugh at that request, and it was a request, by Rachel's pleading tone. It just seemed so surreal to even think of taking a drunken diva's wishes so seriously, especially ones that came up out of the blue like that.

"I can't get into schools there this late, and I have a cheerleading scholarship paying for most of my costs this coming year." Santana added quickly, not wanting to commit to any decision, because if she were to be honest, she really wasn't seriously committed to Kentucky. It was her best plan of action to date, but that didn't mean she'd set down roots.

"You've said before you don't know what you want out of school, so why waste college money if you're not sure yet? Take time to figure that out…in New York." Berry noted passionately, mumbling the last bit quietly, almost out of Santana's range of hearing. And honestly, it was pretty much a sign of desperation on Rachel's part, but she couldn't help but find it a bit endearing too. Everyone else had been telling Santana what was best for her for a long time, and making decisions for her; while Rachel WAS telling her what to do in a way, quietly hoping Santana would follow a certain Berry-approved plan of action, it was really just Berry telling her to figure herself out before jumping into anything big and expensive. Certainly, by the mumbled addition, it was preferable to the diva that she figure herself out in New York, but that Rachel had only barely been audible had her believing that Berry was more a fan of Santana just taking the time to find her own direction.

Sighing, Santana finally allowed her arms to encircle the koala-like body that had slowly been wrapping around her since brown hair had hit her shoulder. "It's not that easy, Rachel." She said with a deep breath, feeling hints of anxiety over the disappointment she'd see in Britt and her parents' eyes if she backed out of school. All her life, she really tried hard not to let what other people thought of her matter, but in the end, it did. Especially thoughts from those she cared about the most.

"It could be. New York is a land of opportunities and ideas, and you could be exposed to your future dreams much faster there than anywhere else. You could find your dreams there, not Louisville." Rachel spoke, fervent in her belief that Santana was better off in the city that never slept than a moderately sized city in Kentucky where she'd cheer-lead and go to practices five days a week. Honestly, it was a decent sell, but she really had to give Kentucky a shot before quitting on what her parents and Britt had invested her in.

"Why is it so important that I be in New York, hrm?" She asked a little playfully, figuring now was as good a time as any to lighten things up a bit.

Instead of an answer, Berry shifted in Santana's arms, snuggling a little closer and burying her nose in the taller girl's neck. "You're warm." The girl mumbled sleepily, but it was arguably one of the more transparent ruses she'd witnessed from Berry over the years. A person didn't just go from awake and passionate to sleepy and quiet in less than a minute's time. Not even Rachel was that weirdly wired.

Santana considered the situation, figuring it was definitely late at night and Berry was still pretty drunk despite seeming fairly lucid. It'd be one of the last times she'd see the girl inside of Lima, most likely. And Rachel HAD pitched New York City pretty well.

"Hey, how's this for a compromise. I stick around in Louisville for a semester, and even though I know you'll have a bunch of hobbit friends to have second breakfast with and take up all your free time, you can call or Skype me whenever, so long as the first time I visit the city this fall, you treat me to pizza. Real New York Pizza." Santana detailed, and as suspected, Rachel's head popped away from her neck as if it was on fire, the diva's big brown eyes focusing intensely on her face. Probably to see if she was lying, but she did have a track record of that shit dating back years, so whatever. Berry would just have to trust her. "And when Christmas rolls around, I'll see what I can do about popping by for the holidays, and you can pitch living in the city to me again, when I'm actually there and can be seduced more efficiently."

She'd expected her words to draw some exaggerated glee from Rachel, in all honesty, instead of the slightly cocked head and intense, mostly unreadable expression. It was dark in her room, and it was cloudy out. Hard to see details, but there was just something about how Berry was looking at her that had Santana going through what she said in a little more detail. And stopping on the third last word.

Santana hadn't actually planned on flirting, and she still wasn't wholly sure that Berry's unrelentingly intense gaze was the result of it, but given Rachel's enthusiasm for her to agree to talk to her, visit, and maybe move there was enough for her to know something else was at play. And as weird as it was, she honestly wasn't opposed to it, even if she knew she'd need a bit more time to wrap her head around the idea of the two of them being something other than enemies or friends.

Deciding that she really had endured far too much talking, Santana lifted an arm up from Rachel's back and brought it to the back of the diva's head, guiding the girl back down to rest comfortably against her chest. Rachel felt just about a million times tenser in her arms, but the gleek didn't resist the shift in position at all, actually snuggling a little more comfortably against Santana after a few seconds.

With Berry all warm and soft against her, and it being insanely early in the morning, Santana couldn't help but yawn in exhaustion, shaking her head at a fresh thought that popped into her head, remembering the game from earlier in the night.

"Is this what it'd be like with us?" She asked softly, a light laugh matching the amusement in her voice as her brain reframed the night in a slightly different light. "Is this how it'd always be? Me making sure you don't get shit like pneumonia and ruin your lungs, while you gripe and grouse about me not giving you the freedom to be as disastrously dramatic of a diva as you want?"

What followed her sincere, if amused, questions was a pregnant pause that surprisingly stretched on and on; Santana knew Rachel was still awake by her uneven breathing and the occasional groping of her t-shirt material, and thought the diva would have taken the opportunity to chime in.

It took a good four or so minutes according to her bedside alarm clock, but her prediction eventually came to fruition. "What do you mean by us? Or…or always?" the smaller girl asked meekly, all tense and sounding as if she'd bolt at any second.

Santana let a leg snake around Rachel, holding her in place, which only had the diva squirming into a position where indeed, one could roll away and dart from the room with ease. Well, Berry would have had the ability had Santana not also snaked her other leg to trap Berry's hips, holding her friend closely against her.

"If we were married. Which, hypothetically, you'd have to propose, because I'm too impulsive to come up with the sort of thing you'd probably expect." Santana rambled quietly, her second sentence drawing almost all the tension out of Rachel, letting her trail a hand through the brunette's hair soothingly, hoping to communicate that she wasn't, like, gonna be a bitch to her or whatever. "But yeah, like, would we always be this way? Butting heads and needing long talks late at night to work out our kinks? Because I'm pretty sure I'd get hella grumpy real fast, Berry. I needs my sleeps. Like, I can deal with your divatude, even though you can get mental-ward insane sometimes, but you'd…"

"I'll always be a diva, Santana. I'd do my best to be a self aware diva, though, and I'd do my best to make sure you'd know I appreciate you tethering me to the ground when I need it. I…I said you'd challenge me, and keep me from being complacent, but I'd make sure you weren't grumpy all the time, especially because of me. And I'd…well, I might keep you awake more than you'd like, because I have a need to be vocal, and that generally leads to me rambling at length, but I'd always make certain that every day, without fail, that you knew that I…well…that I…" Rachel trailed off at that, and while Santana really did want to know what was floating around Berry's mind, even if she had a good idea, it was good enough to know that Rachel wouldn't take advantage of her, and that Rachel hadn't just joked while answering the question in the game. Not that it truly mattered or anything, but it, like, felt good that someone other than B saw the good in her for once. And that Rachel could maybe one day be a good fit with her.

"Don't worry about it, it's nothing new. I've known you've checked up on me in glee to make sure I'm happy for forever, so no surprise there. And I know you'd be really cool about supporting me, and maybe we'd fight like an old married couple when we were a young married couple, but eh. I just…I guess I was surprised about your answer, you know? I've played that enough times before, and no one's ever picked me. I mean, Britt knew we couldn't get married in Ohio, so maybe that's why, but…well, I just got used to filling the fuck or kill roles, I guess. You surprised me." Santana had started off confident enough, but partway through the third sentence, she started feeling that panicky underboob sweat happening, and her mind seemed to translate that into a need to feel nervous, and that just ended up with her rambling like an idiot.

"Oh." She heard Rachel whisper in a breath, the single syllable barely reaching Santana's ears, especially when Rachel shifted in bed once more directly afterward, the diva gently nudging Santana onto her back before laying half her body on top of her, Berry's head resting on her collarbone with a content sigh. "I thought you were upset or…or desperately trying to think of a more desirable outcome than being married to me."

"Give yourself more credit, Berry. I mean, my mind was definitely off in freaking la-la land trying to figure out how you answered like you did, but if not for that, I'm pretty sure the combo of marriage and a hot ass would have me thinking honeymoon sex. Just saying." Santana's playful response was met with wriggling and light smacks to the shoulder by the seemingly unimpressed diva .

"Santana! Could…could you please be an adult for more than five seconds at a time? We were having such a good heart to heart discussion, and then you have to raise the topic of honeymoon sex? I took you for more than a teenage boy, but perhaps you're incapable of understanding romantic context." Rachel ranted in frustration, but Santana could only smile wider as the rambling went on, just barely being able to suppress her giggles.

"Oh calm down, you're just flustered that I brought up sex while you're laying on top of me with two thin t-shirts and shorts separating us. You're not fooling anyone, Rachel." Santana noted with a laugh, slowly gliding one of her legs up and down Berry's; which, along with the rest of that compact little body, had gotten intensely warmer since the honeymoon sex comment.

"Shush, you. I don't want to hear about it for a number of perfectly valid reasons, much like I'd appreciate if you stop caressing the backs of my thighs, Santana. That I'm sleeping with you in your bed should be more than enough for you, given our current friendship. Though I will thank you for your roundabout compliment on my beauty." Rachel rambled indignantly, softening her tone at the end when addressing Santana's compliment. Which, really, was high praise from Santana, so best believe she was happy Rachel didn't shrug that off.

Though she suspected many of Rachel's reasons for being flustered did involve issues around proximity, the fact that they didn't have any sort of arrangement or commitment past friends, that the diva was still drunk, and because in a little over twenty four hours, Rachel would be moving to New York. Santana was sure Berry wanted a little bit of hands-on body exploration, but was also sure the girl wouldn't want to find herself missing that over the following months. It was a dangerous situation, in a way.

"Whatever, Berry. It's fun getting a rise out of you. Though it's easier when you're not sober." Santana chuckled, nuzzling the top of Rachel's head when the diva huffed out in clear disagreement. "Which is why I wouldn't do anything more than this with you tonight." She finished, pressing her lips to the top of Rachel's head and holding her ever so slightly closer. In the dark of night, on the eve of their lives changing drastically, she felt safe enough to offer that much, at least.

The happy hum Rachel made reverberated in Santana's chest, a light, airy, happy feeling fluttering around in her ribs from the wordless response.

"We should probably sleep now, though. You're used to waking up at stupid o'clock, and I want to have breakfast earlier than noon." She added, bringing her formerly stray leg back to wrap around Berry's thighs like a snake.

"But…but, about New York. Do you think it's possible for you to…" Rachel began, only to trail off when Santana's lips touched down on the top of her head once more.

"Ask me again at Christmas, in your apartment, maybe when we're buzzed, covered in tinsel, and lounging on your couch or something." Santana whispered, giving Rachel a squeeze to further emphasize that she would be there. It wasn't an empty promise or anything like that. "Or, hell, tomorrow when we're getting breakfast if you really have to. But right now, tonight? Don't worry your pretty little hobbit head over it. Just sleep, Rachel."

Santana lay awake for a good fifteen minutes, holding Rachel close and feeling the girl's breathing even out as she slipped into slumber. She had a feeling Berry's dreams were good ones, given the smile on the diva's face, and that was enough reassurance that the night had come to something of a happy ending. She knew in a few hours, most of her and her friends would have evacuated Lima for fresh starts and new beginnings, but right there, in her bed, with that tiny koala-like diva's head buried in her neck, she had a feeling a completely fresh start wasn't in the cards for her.

Maybe a sequel, though, in a city she adored, with a familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp! That turned into an egregious fluff-fest. What started out as a "Huh, this could be fun to write about" turned into a "But…what if Santana was cool with Rachel's answer? And what if Rachel misinterpreted Santana being in a state of shock as something else and decided to be needlessly dramatic?"


	15. Berry's First Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana takes Rachel out to her first professional hockey game.

"Go number nineteen!" Rachel yelled amongst the roar of the crowd, standing in front of her seat and nervously watching the game in front of her unfold. She'd never been an aficionado of sporting events, only rarely going to Finn's football games in Lima, really. However, the atmosphere in Madison Square Garden was, despite being cliché, rather electric. She could get used to this.

"You're just cheering for him because you're nineteen, aren't you?" Santana asked her with a smirk, her words only audible due to the puck being stripped from the aforementioned player, killing the roar of the crowd as the opposing team swiftly skated the puck toward the other end of the rink.

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response, Santana." Rachel huffed, turning her head to hide her blush, feeling thankful that direction had her following the play towards New York's zone. Honestly, she had very little idea of what was going on, but it really was pretty exciting, despite Santana's grumbles that the score was too low. Apparently, her team had throttled the Rangers back in San Jose earlier in the season nine to two or something, and she'd been excited to see another beat-down. Rachel's blue-shirted Rangers fell behind early on tonight despite outnumbering the other team at the time due to a penalty, but ever since it'd been evenly matched from what she could tell. No one else had scored, at least.

Santana's hand tugging at her jeans soon had her sitting back down, but she wasn't about to give up the fact that she really didn't know the player's name. Having opted not to wear her glasses, Rachel couldn't quite make out the name on the back of his jersey. There were too many letters for her slight near-sightedness to handle.

"F Y I, he's Brad Richards. Honestly, I figured number thirty-six would be your type." Santana noted, that annoyingly endearing smirk gracing her lips.

Rachel glanced out at the ice, taking a few seconds to spot the player Santana referenced, and taking another second or two to smack Santana in the shoulder a few times. "What, just because he's the smallest?"

"Well, his nickname is apparently 'the hobbit', so …" Santana started, only to have Rachel smack her twice more for teasing her about her height again. Honestly, it wasn't as if Santana was much taller than her. "Anyway, lemme put it this way. It's hard to be short in hockey, because you get pushed around way too much. That hobbit's got crazy skills, so I figured you'd root for him or whatever. I mean, people told him he'd never play in the NHL, and yet, here he is, one of the top scorers on the team."

Rachel let that tidbit of knowledge burrow itself into her mind for a moment, silently accepting, if begrudgingly, that Santana did have a point, even if it was an oddly sweet one. She was rather fond of underdogs, and that number thirty-six overcame physical adversity to be a star made him someone she truly could feel a sort of kinship with. The decision was made; on top of cheering on the team as a whole and number nineteen, that Richards guy, she'd also cheer on number thirty-six.

"Despite the jabs about our heights, you make a good point, Santana." She admitted, earning a shit-eating grin from her insufferable roommate. While she was happy that her former tormenter had dragged her out to her first hockey game on a whim, she couldn't help but wonder why either of them were there in the first place. "So…I didn't know you liked hockey, Santana. I didn't think you would honestly know anything about the sport, yet…here we are."

Santana gave her a slightly rough shoulder nudge as they both sat through a stoppage in play, the Sharks' goalie having, as Santana had explained earlier on, 'frozen' the puck. Or was it 'iced'? She couldn't remember the difference with all the lingo around cold things.

"Come on, we grew up in Ohio, not Bahrain. We had Bowling Green University, like, an hour north of us. Miami U two hours south of us. And then there's the consistently ineffective Columbus Blue Jackets, an actual NHL team, a short trip away, and Ohio State's equally ineffective NCAA team. Ohio's freaking huge on football, but it's not like hockey's an unknown. At least, in western Ohio it isn't." Santana explained, and Rachel had to wonder exactly why or how her roommate had come upon this knowledge, and if so, why she was cheering for a team that was decidedly not from Ohio.

"So why not cheer for Columbus instead of them?" Rachel asked, waving her arm in front of her toward the ice where both teams were setting up for a face-off.

"Well, you were probably too busy watching those crappy black and white movies as a kid to pay any attention to the greatness that was The Mighty Ducks." Santana stated, seemingly waiting for a reaction from Rachel other than a scowl from insulting her beloved classics. However, as she honestly did not know about any movie about 'mighty' ducks, though she momentarily considered Brittany had probably enjoyed it no matter the content, she could only remain silent in hopes of further explanation.

Santana let out a sigh, waiting a few seconds to watch the white-jerseyed Sharks skate the puck out of their zone before speaking again. "Your offenses against the universe aside, that movie was freaking awesome, so I kinda looked around at hockey stuff and the moment I saw that badass shark on the jersey, I was sold. I mean, Columbus didn't have a team back then, so it was either them or the Devils, but they're from New Jersey, and they play boring hockey, so I stuck with the Sharks. Eventually learned the players and now they're my team."

Rachel nodded at the new information, not really understanding who the Devils were, but it only took a few weeks of living with Santana in New York to learn the girl's disdain for the garden state. Cheering for a team from a sunnier, warmer location just seemed like a more understandable decision, considering the lack of success Ohio's teams have supposedly had.

"Despite the fact that I'm pretty sure my team's cursed or some shi…HEY!" Santana shot up out of her seat at the whistle blew and the crowd booed. Rachel could see a referee grabbing at one of her Rangers and leading him off toward the 'penalty box', but hadn't really been paying a tremendous amount of attention at the time, too busy listening to Santana and watching the puck. "You're a piece of SHIT, STEPAN! Time for Pavs to score one on your dime and SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS!"

"Santana sit down!" Rachel hissed, as they began to draw some rather negative attention from the masses of Rangers fans nearby. Santana, however, seemed oblivious, cackling at something a burly man across the aisle was saying.

"Who's winning?! Who's winning?! Yeah, sit back down and get your backscratcher out, you Peter Griffin sad-sack piece of…" Santana only laughed when Rachel roughly pulled Santana back down in her seat and covered her mouth with her hand. Honestly, she was content to enjoy her first ever hockey game without a brawl breaking out from her friend's incendiary remarks. Rachel knew it was at least better than them watching the game at a bar and a number of angry, drunken Rangers fans taking offense, however, so there was that bit of silver lining.

Rachel waited until play started again, New York winning the face-off, before she uncovered her roommate's mouth. "Behave, Santana. I need to bring you home alive, and there are some rather brutish looking people in attendance. I'm pretty sure that fighting actually being a part of the game would lead to fights breaking out in the audience, so let's not try our luck at my first hockey game, alright?"

Santana's glare held for a few long seconds, the withering power of her deep brown eyes nearly causing her to shrink away before the girl merely shrugged and her scowl shifted into an amused smirk. "Whatever you say, Berry."

Rachel rolled her eyes and tugged at the sleeve of Santana's jacket. "So what happened? Why's your team outnumbering mine right now?"

"Stepan, one of your team's players, got called for roughing. Which is like shoving, punching with your gloves on, whacking people with your stick, and generally being a jackass to another player. It was only a minor penalty of roughing, so he's in the box for two minutes, giving my Sharks a five on four power-play." Santana explained calmly, her eyes following the play in the Rangers' zone as Rachel's team's goalie, Lundqvist as she'd gathered from her friend's previous grumbles, was doing his best impersonation of a brick wall.

"Oh." Rachel mumbled, taking notice that for the second time that power-play, the Sharks nearly had to retreat from the Rangers' zone. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Santana, but the first period, my team out-shot yours. And this period, the shots are pretty even, but your team's really not doing a whole lot with them. My team's winning the face-offs during this power-play, and my kindred spirit out there has been blocking shots. Your team may be winning, but I'd wager it won't be for long."

The scoff from Santana was a familiar one that she recognized from when the girl didn't want to admit defeat. That she'd seemingly accurately taken account of the game up to that point was a little exhilarating, given how new she was to it all. Maybe in the future, she'd drag Santana to another game. It'd be fun to have another common interest with her friend.

A whistle blew as the puck got stuck in some netting, the jumbotron signaling a likely commercial break starting up in time. "Whatever, Rachel. You can talk crap, but the fact is, my team's up one nothing. And nothing is exactly what's getting by Nemo." Santana noted with a smirk, and Rachel needed a second or two to understand that the girl was referring to San Jose's goalie instead of the fish from the Pixar movie. Honestly, the nicknames were a bit much.

She was mid-thought in wondering how to respond to Santana's predictions of a shutout when the crowd erupted all around them. A little tug at her sweater had Rachel following Santana's line of sight up to the jumbotron, where a 'Kiss-Cam' was centered on them. Now, she was fairly sure they were mistaken, as there was a nice older couple decked out in Rangers gear to her left that would be much more appropriate than two girls cheering for opposite teams. However, when she glanced back to the cam, it was still on her and Santana.

Gulping back her nerves, she turned her head to Santana, honestly unsure what she'd see. Amused rejection? Disgust? Offense? The cheering of the crowd was momentarily drowned out by the thudding of blood through her skull; the almost intimidatingly dark, intense gaze Santana was shooting her kept her still and silent in her seat.

"At least you'll be able to walk away from this game with something." Santana whispered as she leaned in toward Rachel, an unforeseen hand taking hold of the back of Rachel's neck and guiding her closer until their lips met, Santana's cushioning her upper one surprisingly tenderly.

As silly as it was, her brain only had the power to hope her roommate enjoyed peach-flavoured chapstick, because those red-tainted lips of Santana's were magnificently distracting. With every bit of added force, and with every sweep of Santana's tongue, she just melted a little bit more, sinking forward as there seemed to be applause; certainly, the kiss was worthy of it, from Rachel's perspective, her hands finally getting to grasping Santana's jacket and pulling her closer. Santana only reacted like a shark in blood-infested waters, tilting her head to deepen the kiss as her hand shifted up from Rachel's neck to tug her hair a little, which wasn't fair. She'd accidentally drunkenly told Santana that particular turn-on during a game of truth or dare during a blackout in January, and the moan her roommate elicited from her was nothing if not predictable given the ripple of pleasure rolling through her from the act.

Which earned Rachel a smile against her lips before her friend's parted from hers, Santana planting a few fleeting chaste kisses against her lips that honestly were not at all as satisfying as Rachel would have liked. A fact that Santana, grinning like a gosh-darned idiot, seemed perfectly aware of.

Slowly, Rachel shifted back into her own seat, biting her lip as she turned her attention back toward the ice. She knew she was blushing fiercely, and that her body felt like a puddle of warm goo, but she really didn't feel like boosting Santana's ego while they were in a place she wasn't able to escape to solitude. When Santana felt victorious about something she could be a little annoying in her means of celebration and rubbing it in others' faces. Perhaps they both could, admittedly.

"Seems to me, there's a one to nothing lead, Gayberry." Santana chuckled as she slapped her own thighs twice. And then, a much lighter slap to Rachel's nearest thigh, where Santana's hand remained for many long seconds before the diva worked up the courage to brave a look toward her roommate-slash-antagonist.

Play began once more, but Rachel wasn't paying attention. It was the middle of the second period, and the game still had thirty minutes left to go, so she wasn't worried too much about missing anything. At least, anything game-related, because she'd fallen into a staring contest with Santana, and that took priority.

"So what, do you think you'll tie it up, or can I stay confident the shutout will stick?" Santana inquired almost hesitantly, though the strain of her words wasn't matched in her gaze; the girl's mesmerizing dark gaze had an intensity that nearly overruled her words. Key word being nearly.

Rachel was no stranger to wordplay, being well versed in many Broadway play scripts, as well as classical films with remarkably well written dialogue, so she easily understood what Santana was truly getting at. It just took a few seconds to decide whether she'd mount an offense of her own after getting caught on her heels before.

She let out a chuckle as her mind sifted through a plethora of questions about how this would all work, the sound twisting Santana's face in confusion and causing her to blink, breaking the stalemate. Rachel was immediately out of her seat with a fist-pump and a little hop in place before returning to her seat, feeling quite victorious over winning the contest. Santana, of course, had turned away, arms crossed against her chest.

"Hey Santanaaaa…" She called out in the sing-song type of voice she knew grated on the former cheerleader's nerves. Predictably, the girl's shoulders tensed from annoyance, and that was enough of an opening for Rachel to make a decision. She'd long since felt something for Santana, and hearing the girl was open for more, but not expecting it, was about as golden of an opportunity as she could envision. As she leaned over the armrest and lightly nibbled Santana's earlobe, she figured this turn of events would only lead to insanity. However, she was also pretty sure Santana dug her brand of crazy as much as she found Santana's endearing.

"Pretty sure I'd classify this as a top shelf wrap around." After planting a kiss on the shell of her ear and a lightning quick boob-grab, she plopped back into her seat and pulled out the free program to check the upcoming schedule. Well, free in as much that she'd pouted at Santana until it was purchased for her.

From the heated stare her roommate was sending her from her periphery, Rachel's gut feeling was that she and her Rangers might not be able to pull off a win tonight, but she wanted to ensure that there would be times in the future where they would. Besides, without the Sharks visiting, perhaps they could be less concerned with rivalry, and more with each other and getting Santana to perhaps take on the Rangers as her favourite Eastern conference team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a bit of a nostalgia run seeing that picture of Naya and Dianna on the plane wearing Sharks jerseys, and I figured…why not dabble a bit into that sort of thing? Especially being a long-time diehard Sharks fan myself. :P


	16. Uncertainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel’s worried about grade eight approaching, and is nervous over her and Santana’s friendship after her best friend has been MIA for a while. (One-shot, Rachel/Santana friendship)

Saturday, August 9th marked the fourth consecutive weekend that Rachel Berry would likely spend alone, and she was at wit's end in trying to understand why. Not that she disliked having extra time to practice her vocals, but it wasn't the same as having her best friend by her side. Her fathers had, for years, went on about how Santana was always attached at the hip with her, but the past month had seen an end to those remarks. Santana suddenly was never home when Rachel came by or called, and was never online on MSN either. The entire summer break so far before eighth grade started up had her thinking the dreaded 'A' word that best described what she'd been expecting for months now.

Eighth grade was practically a test drive for high school, at least when it came to fashion, fitness, friends and relationships, and Rachel knew that she'd likely fail to make the grade. Puberty hadn't blessed her like some of the other girls, and while willowy, she still carried around a fair bit of her baby fat. She also didn't really feel capable of keeping up with fashion trends, especially considering most of fashion was geared toward adults with large amounts of disposable income. Her fathers weren't exactly well off enough to afford her that, and when it came to choosing between her college fund and clothes, the future won out.

So she understood that her popularity would likely continue to plummet, whereas Santana's would very likely rise. The girl was a budding young woman now, and despite her rather rough and tumble aggressive attitudes from the past, Santana had a knack for fashion and was something of a fitness queen, always making time to exercise heavily each day. Combine that with her striking good looks, and her best friend would have boys falling over themselves to date her, while Rachel's nose alone seemed to be enough to deter any suitors.

They had been best friends since kindergarten, and the recent radio silence of sorts was enough for Rachel to believe that their friendship would be ending soon, and that Santana was probably trying to draw it out so that it wasn't such a painful shock to her system. As grumpy and abrasive as Santana could seem to most people, Rachel knew her best friend well enough to have her words and actions down to a science. It was textbook Santana to be blunt and razor-sharp in rejecting people she didn't care about, but silent and sadly distant in rejecting those she did.

Rachel, however, was not about to worry about their friendship over the rest of the summer, getting anxious on the first day of school over whether Santana would give her the time of day, and how her best friend would play it, socially. No, Rachel was going to settle things, because she knew no matter how bad she felt at the moment, Santana probably felt considerably worse, given how relentlessly loyal the girl was. Santana wasn't the type to throw a friend away, and if she had to, Rachel would make sure such a decision wouldn't pass.

So she marched downstairs and out the side door to where her bike was locked up. Rachel momentarily wondered if perhaps she was getting too old to have the gold streamers remain on her handlebars, but she figured it would be a decision for another day. It was one o'clock in the afternoon, and she had a girl to find.

Thankfully, the weather was holding up, with a clear blue sky and pleasantly warm temperatures, making for nice biking weather. Rachel fought a frown at the thought of her and Santana possibly never biking around the reservoir again on their weekends off, or racing down the slightly hilly back roads just outside of town.

Rachel pedaled her way across town, knowing Santana likely wouldn't be home, not on such a nice day. She went past a few of their favourite parks, not spotting the raven-haired girl there or in the yards of their elementary school or future high school either. Which left their old tree.

It was a long trip, thirty or so minutes from either of their homes, to the undeveloped bit of woodland on the outskirts of town. She and Santana had explored the area in fifth grade, and spent a whole weekend and a months' earnings from Rachel's paper route to build a swing on the largest tree in the area. Santana did most of the work in climbing it, securing the ropes, and making the actual swing, but Rachel had kept her company and made sure someone would catch Santana if she fell.

Rachel left her bike by their narrow little walkway, the brush being too thick to bike through, and made the trek deep into the wooded area. It was such a nice area, even if some of the trees were a little dead; there were owls and birds, chipmunks and rabbits, and Santana's favourite squirrels as well adding to the ambiance of their little hideout. It was peaceful, and in their younger days, they'd play tag and bird watch and have water-gun fights by the stream. It had only been the past year that their little sanctum had provided a little less joy and a little more melancholy.

It wasn't a surprise to see Santana, though it was to see her up in the tree instead of on the swing. Her best friend knew she was scared of heights and hated climbing trees, and the thought of Santana taking a preemptive strike by being out of reach only had Rachel's heart feeling like there was a hand squeezing it really, super hard.

Still, she lifted her chin and fought through the hurt, marching over to the tree and looking up at her friend, knowing that they both likely came there to finish it.

"Hello, Santana." She called out as she stopped at the base of the tree, looking up at Santana's feet dangling in the air. It all seemed so terribly unsafe.

"Rach." Santana mumbled despondently, kicking her feet a little bit as the girl watched a squirrel make its way around other branches of the tree.

"Would it be possible for you to come down from the tree so that we could talk?" Rachel asked, wanting to get the meat of the discussions over with, figuring ripping a band-aid off would be better than a slow peel.

"I'm okay up here." The answer from Santana was perhaps typical, but combined with the amount of time it had been since they'd been in contact, the distance hurt. The fact that Santana wouldn't at least look at her hurt almost as much.

Rachel fought off a frustrated foot stomp and made her way to the swing; it was made to fit two people, so sitting alone on it made her feel so much smaller than she already knew she was. It was hard on her heart, and brought a few choice Broadway songs to mind about struggle and heartache.

"I've been trying to get a hold of you for weeks, Santana, and you're never around. I miss you, but I can understand if you don't miss me. I can call our friendship off, and you wouldn't have to worry about me bugging you or getting in your way. We can enjoy our history together in secret and go our separate ways." Rachel noted diplomatically, projecting her voice loud enough to ensure Santana could easily hear her up in the treetop.

"What?!" Santana cried out loudly, her surprise certainly legitimate enough, given the girl slipping halfway off the branch in response, one arm keeping her upright and in place enough to scoot her way back to a more secure place on the branch closer to the trunk. "You…what are you talkin' about, Rach?"

Rachel huffed in frustration only after ensuring that Santana was indeed in a safer place up in the tree. "Well, you…you've practically abandoned me, Santana." Rachel choked out, the 'A' word coming out harsh from the effort it took to even voice it. It was honestly how she felt lately, and despite knowing it was important to say out loud, she was sad about knowing it'd probably hurt Santana.

"The heck…" Santana mumbled, before climbing down the tree like a spider monkey, frowning as she went to take a step toward Rachel and the swing before rethinking it and instead anxiously leaning against the tree trunk. "You don't wanna be my friend anymore?"

Santana's words were quiet and hesitant as her best friend clearly fought to keep a straight, emotionless face. Santana had never been all that great at concealing how she felt, and Rachel had in the past preferred the girl just trust her enough to be open with her. Santana had, for years, until that moment, and it was yet another marker of the distance forged between them.

"I said I miss you, Tana. You're my best friend. But I shouldn't have to spend forever missing you." Rachel spoke, kicking her feet back and forth nervously as she sat alone on the swing, just wanting Santana to come share it with her like they used to. Like they should be.

Santana's mouth gaped open a little at the confession, her head bowing as the lanky girl made her way to the swing and nudged Rachel to her usual side, both of them taking their familiar positions.

"You're such a goober, Rachel." Santana mumbled, nudging the diva with her shoulder this time as they both started to swing a bit, getting a tiny bit of momentum going. "And…and I miss you too. It just sucks."

Rachel nodded, feeling very much aligned with Santana in how upsetting the whole social situation was. It just wasn't fair. "If you have to get a new best friend, please try Lucy. I know she's been overhauling her appearance and activities to be popular for when we reach high school, but I think she's still that nice bookworm underneath. Or maybe Brittany, because she's popular, but she's also sweet and funny."

"Why would I ditch you for them?" Santana asked, her left foot wrapping around Rachel's right as they swung on the swing in unison. It had always been their 'thing' out there at the swing, and that bit of familiarity made Rachel feel much lighter, even given the situation.

The question admittedly caught Rachel off guard, because up until that point, she'd thought they were on the same page about what was going on. "Because you're going to want to be popular this year, and I would only drag you down? Why else would you be avoiding me so much this summer?"

"Not because of that! Jeez." Santana muttered, flicking Rachel's bare bicep and causing the diva to recoil a little from the sensation. "What, you think I'll get super popular and listen to a bunch of stupid jerks over you?"

Rachel didn't really know what to say to that, because that had honestly been her assumption aside from the use of derogatory words, so she just nodded.

"What the heck! Rach, you know me…I can't stand people. I mean, sometimes I won't do stuff because of other people and stuff, but I don't want a bunch of stupid new friends. Just because people tell me I'm kinda pretty now doesn't mean I'll listen more to some bitches than you. You're my friend and, like, the only 'peer' I can think of to pressure me, so whatever. I'd rather be on the swings with you than in some corner of the schoolyard gossiping about celebrities, or a bunch of the idiot boys in our grade." Santana rambled angrily, her voice practically a snarl by the end of it. And yes, Rachel knew Santana was famous for her dislike of most people in the world, but she knew that deep down, Santana cared about what people thought of her. She thought her best friend would bow to that, and it wasn't a completely unreasonable prediction, especially since Santana readily admitted it in her rant to some degree.

Still, it was a massive relief to hear that Santana was still her best friend. Sure, things could change on the first day back, still, but the odds were much better now at things remaining the same. "I'm sorry for doubting you, I just…I was worried, because you've avoided me for a long time and it made me sad, so I just wanted to get it over with if you weren't going to be my friend anymore. But if you're still my best friend, then…then why don't I ever see you? You don't even come over for Saturday morning cartoons or the Law and Order marathons anymore."

Santana was quiet for a moment, sniffing and leaning ever so slightly into Rachel. "People suck." Santana noted quietly, a long silence following those two simple words. Yes, Rachel understood that Santana had a general distaste for most living things, especially human beings, and that was hardly a new revelation. "Everyone's been hasslin' me like crazy, okay? And I don't like it."

That was much more relevant and new information, in Rachel's mind, and she couldn't help but get defensive over her best friend being potentially bullied. "What about?"

"Boys." Santana answered quickly with a fierce eye-roll, which probably meant that the girl's rather intense family was pushing the topic far more than Rachel's dads were for her.

"Well, I suppose it's to be expected. We ARE going into grade eight, and most boys and girls have been in a relationship by this point. My dad keeps telling me about the stigma of spinsters and cat ladies, and while I appreciate his dramatics, I also understand he just means well, and wants me to improve socially through relationships. Your family probably wants you to as well, Tana." Rachel explained calmly and slowly, building her argument on the fly, because she honestly hadn't placed a terrible amount of thought into that topic as of late, what with her most valuable personal relationship having thought to be in shambles.

"Well it's garbage! Every dinner, every time abuela comes over, whenever I get back from school, they're always talking about that junk." Santana spat, a deep scowl on her face as their swing started gaining elevation from the girl's movements and anger. "I don't want a boyfriend."

Rachel could understand the dilemma. Santana's disregard for a rather normal social practice and rite of passage for the average girl would likely get more and more attention and focus as time went on, earning more anger from Santana. It seemed like one of those 'vicious cycles' her father would talk about. She took a few moments to consider the situation and possible solutions, with a decent one coming to mind fairly quickly.

"Well, from my broad knowledge of most things media, I understand that family often brings these points up both to gain moments of nostalgia by seeing you with a boy in a way that resembled them when they were younger, but also because it's a way to reinforce the idea that they want grandchildren. You're hardly an appropriate age for kids, and they have no right to live vicariously through you, so perhaps you can tell them that you'll consider dating boys when it's an age-appropriate situation, such as in high school? It would at least buy you a year." Rachel spoke, hoping that her reasoning was sound enough for Santana to digest and accept, because she really did feel it was a good plan.

"But what…" Santana started, before clamping her mouth shut and ducking her head away from Rachel, earning immediate concern from the diva. Enough for Rachel to wrap an arm around her best friend and pull her closer.

Usually that would do the trick in getting Santana to spill her thoughts, but Santana just sat there as the swing slowly came to a halt. "What's wrong, Tana?"

"I think I am. What…what if something's wrong with me?" Her best friend choked out, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. It wasn't a rare event that Santana cried, but it rarely happened without some legitimate issue, however twisted and contorted in her best friend's mind. Santana DID have the tendency to over-think, and Rachel knew the girl had something of a 'sensitive soul', as her daddy called it.

"Nothing's wrong with you, Santana. Who said so?" Rachel asked, hoping to goad her best friend into explaining, because she really wasn't up for another few weeks of silence from the girl about what was troubling her. It was bad enough that she hadn't been there to help those past weeks. Rachel needed to ensure Santana was okay as soon as possible.

Santana's head slid from Rachel's shoulder to the crook of her neck as the girl clutched her Powerpuff Girls t-shirt. "I don't…I don't think I ever want a boyfriend."

"There's nothing wrong with that." Rachel said immediately, tightening her grasp on Santana, knowing the girl needed a good hug at the moment, especially with how her best friend was clutching onto her. "Your parents may, however, believe it's a passing phase, because the average girl does eventually warm up to the idea of dating boys, to put it mildly."

At that, Santana buried her face even harder against Rachel, her words coming out muffled, but the message was remarkably clear. "I don't want them to hate me…"

Santana had never been the most eloquent or detailed when vulnerable, and Rachel didn't expect that to change any time soon, but it didn't hurt her ability to have a good idea of what Santana was saying. After all, her dads weren't interested in girls, and daddy's friend Alice in Columbus wasn't interested in dating guys. And that was okay, but Santana's catholic household held certain standards, and if Rachel was correct about her best friend's struggle, it wasn't likely to get any easier. Especially with Santana's abuela, most likely, no matter how much her best friend adored the woman.

"They won't, Tana. Your mami and papi are friends with my dads, right?" She asked, drawing a slow, hesitant nod against her neck. "They might not…understand right away…or expect it…but they love you. I hear them say it all the time. And I'll always be your best friend. You don't need boys."

Santana nodded again and slowly separated from Rachel, wiping her face off with her own t-shirt before leaning back against the diva again. "You're not gonna leave me for a boy and forget about me, right?" Santana asked softly, her eyes averted once more, though Rachel found the girl's leg curling around hers once more.

"Never." Rachel answered with a smile, because no boy could tear her away from her Tana. Boys could be nice, but they couldn't really beat out her best friend.

"Good." Santana said, turning her head to face Rachel and give her the girl's trademark happy grin. "Now enough with the sappy stuff. Can we go back to your place and play Super Monkey Ball?"

Rachel couldn't help but laugh at how enthusiastic her best friend would get over the puzzle game, and just nodded, happy to know they were okay, and that they both knew they had each other, through thick and thin. As she biked back home with Santana on the front pegs of her bike, goading her to pedal faster, she couldn't help but wonder if that warm feeling in her chest was a good enough indicator that in the future, she could potentially be okay adding the conditions of in sickness and in health, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, and all those other vows. Planning and being aware of future options WAS important.

Either way, she was happy where she was, being together with Santana as grade eight loomed over them. She was sure the coming years would change them, but now had faith that they were strong enough to get through it all intact and by each other's sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was thinking to myself "What would it be like if Santana had been friends with Rachel as a kid? What issues could come up over the years?" And so, this fic came to exist, among a few other unfinished ones. Was going through an angst kick when writing this so…yeah.


	17. Acting Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel, having pushed aside her acting practices for weeks due to her busy schedule, runs herself through her usual gauntlet of expressions and emotions, ending…as usual…with fake tears to ensure that she can still cry on demand. Predictably, she succeeds, but what happens when a certain cheerleader stumbles upon her teary-eyed self? (One-shot, Crack-fic, College-age AU, Rachel/Santana Romance)

After a number of consecutive busy weeks preparing for my winter showcase, managing all my holiday season responsibilities, and helping Kurt smooth over his relationship with Adam, I could admit that I, Rachel Barbra Berry had been letting something slide.

Sadly, ever since I'd finished my immaculate work in West Side Story back in high school, my acting skills had taken a backseat to basically everything else in my life. Not a poor decision, given my priorities at the time, but something I felt the need to remedy given my Fridays were now free of both date nights and evening lessons.

My favourite auditorium on the shared Tisch/NYADA campus was vacant as usual, given it was a Friday evening, six minutes after most standard courses will have ended. I'd usually allow myself a half hour of practice in front of the mirror, then another half hour on the cab drive home to practice dialogue with an imaginary partner in the seat beside me. It was, after all, important to focus on tone and resonance of the voice in delivery as much as body language, and I'd learned that a car was a very good environment to work in, as it restricted my body language, forcing me to utilize other ways of communicating character.

Most of the acting exercises were fairly brief, and while I had gotten a tiny bit rusty as I found out sitting in front of the mirror, most adjustments I needed to make were with believably shifting from one emotion to another. I'd been stumbling between moving from a gamut of emotions to expressing sadness, the shift just not seeming organic enough for my elevated personal standards, so I put in a bit of work. After ten minutes, it wasn't perfect, but I'd managed to transition much better across most emotions, and decided to cap my session off early with a good cry, wanting to ensure that I could still cry on a dime.

Once done with that, I would pack up, and head home for a nice, relaxing evening. So with the goal of watching a marathon of Barbra movies in my favourite loveseat, I started up the waterworks, smiling a little at my immediate results.

* * *

I was a little goddamned frustrated. It was Friday, classes had ended, and my makeup bag was missing. I'm not a fucking clueless idiot, I'd looked pretty much everywhere for it, and I swore to whatever gods were listening that if it wasn't in the auditorium where I'd run through rehearsals that morning, there would be hell to pay, with all debt payments forwarded to Snixx.

It wouldn't have been as big of a deal if I hadn't just got a bunch of new shit, and while being on the university's cheerleading team largely meant I wasn't offered much opportunity to be creative with my look, I planned on testing out some interesting tutorials that weekend, probably Saturday afternoon. Hey, school only took up five days of the week, technically, that's two days left of freedom, aside from game days.

To my credit, being popular meant I had to look after myself, and maybe I was a little distracted as I headed into the auditorium and made my way to the dressing room area because shit.

Shit.

It was supposed to be easy, I was supposed to just waltz in, get my bag, and I wouldn't have to have the world tremble at my feet as I went on a damn rampage, but fucking shit, Rachel was just sitting there in front of a mirror, heavy streams of tears rolling down her cheeks, and fuck if my weakness for crying beauties wasn't acting up again. It wasn't fair! This was supposed to be fast, a quick grab and dash job so I could get home and relax for the weekend.

But…hell, she looked so insanely sad, and I couldn't just squeeze past her to grab my shit, you know? It wouldn't be right. It just wouldn't, even I wasn't THAT cold. Berry had been pretty great to me since the whole outing thing, and had helped me move out to New York, and that meant something to me. Pretty sure it might have been a side-effect of her being dumped by Finn and leaving most of her friends in the dust, and Rachel needing to ensure there was a silver lining to that, but still.

So I couldn't have just left her.

I took a step forward, and then another, hoping to quietly make my way over, but the third step coincided with a creaky floorboard, and that drew the crying diva's panicked eyes over to look at me. Now, I was pretty sure I wasn't just seeing things when Berry just started crying harder, her eyes all wide and terrified, and that lower lip of hers trembling at double speed, and fuck it if the dark cell at the depths of my soul opened up and let my empathetic instincts truly kick in. I just hoped it'd be enough to curb the little kink I had that was making my lady loins feel a wee bit enticed.

"Oh god…Rachel, are you okay? It's…I…" I stammered out, trying to figure out something to say that could try and make it all better as soon as possible, but fuck if I knew what had Rachel crying. Still, it was after school, on a Friday, and we were in the auditorium, so it had to be something serious enough to keep Rachel from rushing home to her Bushwick sanctuary of musicals and Barbra Streisand merch. Not even she was dramatic enough to be like this over something small, you know?

My words seemed to break the diva from her stupor, at least enough for her to try and turn away and stem the tears, but like hell if I could handle that. I mean, she's fucking upset, and she's scared of me? Or, like, embarrassed that I'd seen her like this? Hell if I know, but she's been good to me, and yeah, I'll poke fun of her over it later, but not now. No, right now she looked like she needed...someone.

So I closed the distance, hoping I wasn't about to make a huge mistake.

* * *

I couldn't help but legitimately tremble as Santana crossed the room. For sure this room would transform into the valley of death, and Santana would pull a camera or something and take pictures, and the first leaked photos in my young career would be of me in tears, instead of some illicit scandal! And then Finn would find out, and travel all the way to new York and get in my face about how the breakup was entirely my fault, and how he's happy without me, even if he's a little sad that I cried, but not too sad to care about my sadness more than how comfortable he is.

And it was all just so upsetting and humiliating that I was so shocked into stillness as she approached. I should have been wiping my eyes, breaking character, shooting off a stage smile to try and ward her off, but I couldn't will myself to stop crying, not with the fear that was thrumming inside of me.

I watched her close within a foot or two and stretch her left hand out toward me tentatively, and I couldn't help but turn my face away and wince, hoping that Santana, being human, wouldn't act like a predator and lunge. Hoping she'd just...have mercy and leave.

So it was with great shock that I felt myself pulled off my chair and into a soft, cinnamon-vanilla-scented hug, Santana's arms immediately wrapping themselves around my body in a, dare I say, comforting embrace.

Wow.

Honestly, it wasn't that I ever thought Santana incapable of hugs, because I'd seen her hug Brittany and Quinn, and she seemed quite good at them, but I hadn't imagined such warmth, not just in body heat, but the small, subtle movements of Santana's body that had my previously rapid heart-rate steadying as the cheerleader assuaged my fears. Honestly, between her touch and her scent, it was entirely impossible to be scared.

She smelled like warm cinnamon buns, and it was just strictly unfair to smell so good, so maybe I ducked my head into the base of her neck so I could inhale it better. And maybe my nose was still stuffed from crying and it came out as a sniffle. It wasn't planned, I swear, I just forgot to account for biological processes. Honest.

"It's…it's gonna be okay, Rachel. You're gonna be okay, I promise." Santana's words were indescribably soothing, like a balm to a burn I hadn't realized I'd endured. To my credit, I knew it'd be manipulative to not break character, so I tried to laugh in a relieved sort of way that hopefully wouldn't have Santana thinking I was laughing at her, but rather my good fortune. Of course, leave it to Santana to squeeze me just as I attempted, leaving me to let out a surprised garbled noise that ultimately sounded like a sob.

"Shhhh, it's okay, mi angel, don't cry. Whatever…whatever it is, I'm gonna make it better, okay? Just as soon as you stop crying, I'll make it happen, preciosa." Santana whispered as she actually nuzzled the side of my head, her arms starting to rub my back in a way that was really quite glorious, not to mention intimate.

Honestly, I had no idea what was happening. Santana Lopez, the fiercest girl in glee, was holding me and comforting me like I imagine one would a lover, and giving me pet names, calling me her angel, and precious, and it was enough to make my head spin. Yet, at the same time, that swirling vortex of comforting emotion was perhaps a little wonderful, in all its sweetness and safety. Let it be known that Rachel Berry had, at least once or twice, attempted to stop this all from happening before diving in with both feet.

It isn't every day that a former nemesis shows a sincere display of how much she cares, after all, so I may have clutched harder to Santana, and I might have whimpered just to see what would happen next.

What happened was Santana moving us both backward and lowering us onto one of the bean bags Adam's Apples had brought to school for lounging purposes, which turned out to be rather comfy, what with me snuggled up against Santana. "Okay…okay, I guess you gotta let it all out…you never were one for half measures, were you? So just let it out, estrella, you're safe here. I've got you." The cheerleader's voice was just so soft and smooth, and so were the lips that pressed against my temple, and I couldn't help but just burrow closer to her, loving how she was making me feel all safe and cared for. Like there was nothing that could harm me in the entire universe.

It was starting to get harder to cry, so I did my best to just focus on how it felt when Finn dumped me, how his words pierced me and made me feel like my heart would never fully mend. How he fed me meat and told me it was vegan. Fresh tears spilled out of me, Santana immediately noticing the slightly heavier torrent as she pulled my face away from her neck.

Her eyes had always been this dark, mysterious brown, but here, they just looked so warm and inviting. And though she seemed a little nervous or flustered, her smile was so sweet and reassuring that it was difficult to not smile back and try to wipe my tears away.

"I know you're upset, mi angel, but it'll be alright." Santana spoke passionately, hesitating for a moment before closing the distance and pressing her lips to my nose, then my cheek, and heavens, to my lips. All chaste, but I could feel her lips against me seconds after they'd been gone, and I wanted them back. It wasn't too much to ask, was it?

"San… p…please…" I whimpered as I moved my head closer to hers, leaving perhaps an inch between us. Alright, perhaps I WAS baiting her, but she was just so happy to comfort me in that sugary sweet way that felt like a warm blanket around my heart. It seemed like a win-win, and who was I to stand in the way of personal victories?

Santana's reaction was immediate, shifting me onto her lap and peppering my temple with kisses. "I'm right here, Rach. I'm here…tell me what you need, mi angel. Please…" The girl's cracking voice had my heart stirring in my chest, knowing she was broken up about me crying. I didn't want that.

I wanted her to be happy, just like she's made me.

"You…" I cried in return, pressing my lips to the edge of her jaw and nuzzling her cheek, just wanting to feel closer, wanting to take in more of her touch, her warmth, her safety. I know, I know it's all so...so intimate, and I'd only ever been with Finn, but...but I found myself wanting more from her. Wanting whatever she was willing to give.

Santana's left hand slipped under my top, quickly finding and massaging my abs as her lips graced my own once more, this time lingering a delicious second or two longer. I pulled at her top to hold her close, trying to let her know I didn't want her to put any distance between us. She seemed to get the message, peppering my face with kisses and pressing our bodies as close as was likely physically possible.

"I'm here, preciosa, I'm here…" Santana whispered before her lips pressed against mine, hands searing my skin as the heat of her embrace escalated into an inferno of hands clutching at each other, lips colliding with increasing fervor, moans being drawn from the pit of my soul.

I'd never felt such passion before, such need to be touched and held and kissed. It was all just so new, and I couldn't get enough of it, but my morals just wouldn't allow me to keep quiet. With great, heroic effort, I put the slightest distance between us. "Santana…I'm sorry…" I managed to work out between kisses, Santana's unrelenting attention nearly distracting me from my noble purpose.

"Don't be sorry, mi angel. I told you, it's okay to let it out." Santana cooed, her hand finding residence on my cheek, stroking it almost adoringly. Gosh, where was this sweet girl all through high school when I could have used her? And why did my morality have to kick in?

I placed a hand on her chest and took a calming, deep breath. I tried to ignore the furious beating of my heart, needing to just be able to focus and get what I needed to say out of the way. "I was practicing. And…and at the end of every acting practice, I force myself to cry." I managed to force the words out while looking Santana in the eye, hoping I wouldn't see some sense of betrayal.

Thankfully, the girl just cocked her head to the side in confusion. "It was an act?"

Now, I knew I had to tell the truth, but at the same time, I wasn't about to leave out the elements of truth that led to where we were. It simply…well, it wouldn't be honest. And Rachel Barbra Berry is an honest person. Ask anyone at temple, or who I spent time coaching vocals for.

"Well, you startled me, as I thought I was alone. And then I was scared that you'd…well, tease or taunt me, and I froze. And I couldn't stop crying for a while, because while I can cry on command, sometimes it's hard to stop, so that was legitimate. And you came over to me and hugged me, and you were being all sweet, and…and I liked it." I explained, hoping it wouldn't infuriate the cheerleader or result in the taunting or teasing I'd been a little frightened of before.

I watched Santana take in a deep breath and exhale it through her nose, the cheerleader surprisingly curling up closer to me. "Since it's honesty hour, I…I can't handle crying girls. It's like a switch is flipped in me, and I get this…this NEED for them to be better and happier again, but…I kind of get a little worked up by the whole crying of it all. I read somewhere that it's a sort of link to intimacy, but it is what it is, I guess."

That gave me pause for a moment, as it seemed we both had some sort of agenda in keeping the façade going. Though there was one aspect that just wasn't so clear. "Worked up?"

"Like…sexually. Horny. Wanky. It's like, the only time I feel I can just be open and kind and stuff, so it's a thing for me. I really don't want to talk about it…" Santana clarified before averting her gaze, seemingly embarrassed, and I felt myself immediately flush. No wonder Santana had been so aggressive when I'd cried out for her, then. Well. Hrm.

"Are…are you mad at me? Was…well, were you…enjoying yourself?" I asked meekly, feeling a little uncertain of where we stood at the moment, considered we went from making out to Santana's face mostly being hidden from me, and the girl not wanting to talk about her sexuality.

Santana adjusted her position, resting her head on my chest as she shifted us around on the massive beanbag. "I'm not mad. And I did like it."

I nodded at that, though my niggling insecurities bounced around in my skull, needing to be acknowledged and answered. "But it was because I was crying."

"It's not…" Santana started, before lifting up off of me, her head mere inches from mine. "Rachel, you're kind of beautiful, okay? Sure, I'm not big on the owl sweaters, but when a beautiful girl's crying in front of me, I can't help myself. And when she kisses like it's her day job, I can't help myself. And when she touches me like I mean something to her…I can't help myself. Okay? I really liked our macking session."

Her words, had I not been able to see her face, likely wouldn't have convinced me, but she looked so flustered, and insecure, and shy, and I just couldn't help myself either. I felt the groundswell of emotion rush through me, and channeled that feeling into tears as I bit my lip, wanting to return to what we'd been doing together. Wanting to feel her close again. "San…" I spoke through a broken whisper, feeling a tear fall against my cheek as I combed a hand through Santana's raven locks. The ten years of acting practice that led to me being able to cry on a dime was proving its worth in spades.

Immediately, Santana's eyes widened, her mouth gaping for a moment before blinking away her shock. "Rachel, we…you can't just…I…oh god, what are you doing to me?" Santana stammered, struggling through speech as I whimpered and tugged at her top, certainly hamming it up a little, but who could blame me? I was watching Santana melt before me over a little bit of acting, and it felt glorious.

Eventually, the cheerleader just gave in, sinking back onto me and letting out a content sigh as her forehead rested against mine. "Rach…mi angel…what do you need, baby?"

I let my lips curl into a wet smile, tears dripping from my lower lip down my chin. "You…always, only you."

* * *

Rachel's words echoed relentlessly in my head, matching the thick, thrumming pulse raging through my temples. A part of me knew it was definitely an act, that there wasn't a genuine need for her to have me of all people, but that all just took a back seat to a selfish need to make believe. To pretend that this WAS real. How long had it been since anyone needed me?

Hell, when had anyone actually said they needed me like this? Or in any way? I tried thinking back, but it was all a blank. So Rachel needing me, and only me? I didn't care if it was an act, I'd show her what it'd be like to have a front row seat to the Snixx show. She liked me being sweet? Done. She liked me touching her? I'll have her begging for more.

I allowed myself one last look at her gloriously pouting, tear-streaked face, and those soft brown eyes that were practically screaming 'Hug me!', before closing that last inch or so between our lips.

The moment our lips touched, Rachel's hands were pulling me in a bunch of directions, probably trying to get me closer, but I was already lying on top of her, arms curled around her body, there WAS no getting closer. But fuck if it wasn't kinda hot as hell that she was trying.

Knowing my body better than her, I took hold of a hand I could reach without breaking our lip lock, guiding it slowly down my body until it rested on my ass. I mean, hey, I love my ass, and I loved having it touched.

And wow, if Rachel's passion didn't make her damn awesome at taking every signal of mine and cataloguing it in her mind under 'How to Make Santana Purr: Volume One'. The diva had already found where along my jaw was the most sensitive, she'd already explored my ribs and abs for spots that made me writhe in a good way, and was using it all to her advantage as the diva's teeth took hold of my lower lip, the little nip drawing a traitorous moan from me. Another entry in her damn list and she'd honestly only been at it for a few minutes. It was kind of scary.

But fuck if I was going to be upstaged by a girl I knew was working from research for the most part. Avoiding another nip from Berry in a split second maneuver, I let the girl bask in the lost kiss for a moment as I nuzzled her cheek, taking that opportunity to reposition us a little more to my advantage.

"It's alright, mi angel, you just let me take care of you." I whispered in that smooth, slightly smoky tone that had been relaxing the diva over the whole macking session we'd been having. Thankfully, her body did relax a bit, both of Rachel's hands fully cupping my ass as I peppered kisses across her face.

It was a nice, easy way to distract Rachel, I found; they seemed to force the diva to focus a bit more inward, maybe at keeping up the charade, maybe at just actually embracing the fact that someone was finally kissing that admittedly cute nose of hers, but ultimately, it gave me plenty of time to plan.

And to sneak an unseen hand to the girl's skirt, releasing the clasp and unzipping it in such a smooth motion that I wasn't sure Rachel even noticed what had happened until I was sliding it down her legs.

I watched her mouth open, as if to protest, and silenced it with a fleeting, chaste kiss. "Shhh, preciosa. I'll only go for as long as you're upset, alright? For as long as you need me. You let me know when you're feeling better, okay, mi angel?" I asked, figuring there should probably be some rules to our little game, something defined.

Of course, her hiccuping nod was just unfair. Didn't think Rachel would play dirty, but damn. It took me a second or two to snap out of my lust-driven daze and return to the task at hand, rubbing my hands across her hips, reveling in the soft, smooth skin Rachel always hid away.

"You're so goddamn beautiful, and I hope I can make you feel that, princesa." I whispered in her ear as one of my hands took a cursory adventure to the apex of Rachel's thighs, feeling a breathtaking wetness through the girl's panties. Fuck, whether Berry was super ready or just self-lubricated like a damn waterfall, it felt so fucking amazing, just trailing my fingers over the drenched cotton. Rachel's little mewls were music to my ears, but while I DID want to escalate, I knew it'd be best to draw it all out a bit more, trailing the other hand up under Rachel's shirt to cover her bra.

Rachel's reaction was instantaneous, arching into my touch and letting out a heart-shuddering whimper, hands clutching for purchase against my ass still as I tweaked her nipple through the thin material of her bra. "Please...off..."

It was all Rachel needed to say for me to practically throw her damn clothes off of her. Thankfully, the sweater wasn't super tight, and Rachel's camisole wasn't any trouble either, leaving the diva in just her underwear. Which, really, made me feel a little weird, being fully dressed and all, even if it was just my practice uniform. So I leaned back away from her and carefully unzipped my top, knowing coach would kill me if I accidentally damaged it.

As soon as it was stripped away, Rachel's hands shot up to drag my sports bra off, and then those pillowy soft lips...

My sexuality and my abuela had tested my faith and all, but if there was one major holy experience in my life, it was feeling Rachel's lips on my tits, her teeth nibbling delightfully and forcing my body to fall forward at her touch, an embarrassing moan escaping me at Rachel's deviousness. Damn it, I was supposed to be doing the pleasing!

I mean, fuck, not like I'd turn down a girl like Berry, who was looking more and more like a spitfire as seconds of glorious pleasure and groping passed, but it felt selfish letting her cater to me when she was upset and all. Even if it was just fake upset to draw me in, I still couldn't help but feel like I should put her first.

So with a quick, if clumsy sweep, I swapped our positions and shifted even further down before Rachel's hands could try to pull me back up. If taking my time was going to make things a tug of war, I'd speed things up and keep Rachel occupied.

My teeth found the waistband of Rachel's panties, playfully nipping into the skin a tiny bit before drawing them midway down her thighs. I didn't have the patience to pull them off all the way, so I left them there as my face closed the distance, allowing my nose to skim up her folds, wiggling a bit against her slightly engorged clit. Britt used to call them sweet lady eskimo kisses, but I'm not sure there was anything sweet or ladylike about it, to be honest. Not with the writhing it was making Rachel do, forcing my hands to her ass to hold the diva still.

"Please, San..." I heard from above me in that whimpering, sad voice; the diva pulling at my heartstrings like a damned pro. I allowed my eyes to dart upward at the brunette, and couldn't help but be stricken by how thoroughly fuckable she looked, with messy brunette curtains framing her face, swollen lips, and tear-streaks and all. In my brief interlude, Rachel's hands had found her own breasts and were tweaking the fuck out of them as Berry's body writhed like if she stopped touching herself, she'd explode. There was desperation in Rachel's eyes, and while I knew Rachel would say the words, and I would wait for them, I already knew what the diva wanted.

"Make me happy. Please." Those four words kickstarted my adrenaline, my heart thumping almost painfully as I dove into Rachel with fervor, not wanting to waste any time in granting her wish. I felt fortunate for my long, agile tongue as I plunged it into her, loving how Rachel's hands immediately found my hair and pulled at it to get a good grip.

With Rachel tugging at my hair, and her sweet taste filling my mouth, I couldn't help but keep a brisk pace, my nose working over her clit as my tongue explored her, twisting and rolling and flattening out to give Berry the full experience, to give her the best I could offer, at least on a beanbag in a damn changing room. Every slight shift in position, every time Rachel's hands caressed my head instead of pulling at my hair, every time I heard her moan my name like a holy chant...with all of Rachel's little signals and sounds, I fell further into it all, the room disappearing from around me until it was just Rachel.

Until everything was her, and the only need I could sense apart from me was the oxygen her heavy, staggered breaths were trying to draw into her. I almost felt guilty, but when the tip of my tongue touched a spot in Rachel that almost had the diva launching herself into fucking outer space, I knew I was onto something. My hands gripped her hips firm, hopefully not bruise-worthy, and I switched from shuffle to solo repeat, working that spot over and over as my nose wove symbols against her clit.

I could feel Rachel's movements becoming more erratic, more desperate as she approached the end, and while I desperately wanted to get her off, my pride needed to get a word in, needed to guide her one last time before the spell was broken. "Time to let go, mi angel. I'll catch you, just let go for me, preciosa."

With that, I returned to her, my tongue slowly manipulating that small textured spot inside of her, my lips vibrating as I hummed 'Defying Gravity' against her, my fingers dexterously working her clit, needing her to release and just let go. To let everything go.

I wasn't sure how long I was at it before I felt Rachel's hands grip my skull, her hips bucking violently against my diligent mouth. My jaw would be sore later, but when Rachel fucking dug her nails into my scalp as she screamed my name, loud enough to echo through the whole auditorium, it was all more than worth it. Hell, feeling Rachel's tense body melt through the aftershocks of her orgasm was more than worth it.

I leisurely cleaned Rachel up with my tongue, sheepishly feeling like a cat as I lapped her up. I mean, hell, I'd never tasted a girl that sweet before, and I honestly didn't want to waste the opportunity. This was Rachel Berry, after all, and...well, she wasn't entirely straight, I guess, but she wasn't real gay either. Who knew if she'd ever be up for another round? She DID once have that weird goal to lose her virginity at twenty five as part of her thirty year plan, after all.

Once I was thoroughly satisfied I'd gotten all of it, I gave her a little chaste kiss to her lady lips and began the slow crawl up her tired body, watching the diva still attempting to catch her breath, all glassy-eyed and flushed.

But the fact that Rachel was smiling? Like, one of those relieved, carefree, legit content with life smiles? Yeah, that felt fucking fantastic.

"San..." Rachel called out softly between breaths, lazily gesturing me to move faster with her hand, still too tired to angle her head to look at me. I might have crawled back up a little quicker until we were face to face, her unfairly dazzling smile practically blinding me. At least, until she hugged me close, my face finding its way to the crook of her neck as she hummed happily. "Mmmm...better."

Normally, I wasn't one to stick around after sex, least of all cuddle. That said, Rachel was warm and soft and happy, and I had endured a long day, so a little post-coital snuggling wasn't the worst thing. Okay, it was pretty nice, even.

"Feeling better now, Rach?" I asked quietly as I shifted to get more comfy. Now that we'd stopped being active, it was getting a little chilly, being topless and all. And Rachel was warm as hell, so she was pretty much the best electric blanket substitute around; one that I could go down on to satisfy my sweet tooth, even.

"Mmhmm. I feel I...have to congratulate you...on your prophetic...pet names, Santana." Rachel spoke quietly, starting to catch her breath again, but still sounding a little winded. It was a little cool that for all of Berry's famous breath control, I'd rendered her breathless. "What you did..."

I'm not real patient, but I was feeling charitable given my successes today, and let the words hang for a bit before giving Rachel a little squeeze. "What I did?"

"Made me feel weightless, like I was flying. And...special...precious, even." Rachel answered, her voice twisting and hanging in spots, a telltale sign Rachel Berry was yearning. Or, at least, had yearned for such a feeling, I guess. One of the two. "You gave me something I've never felt before, Santana. And...and even though you know I was acting throughout with my tears and all, I need you to know that I'll cherish this. That what I felt, what I wanted...that it was real for me."

Honestly, I was used to being thanked, or told it was good, or even amazing. But being told someone would cherish what I gave them? That was new. And maybe I smiled a bunch. Not that anyone would have seen it. And even if Rachel, like, felt it against her neck, it's flattering, right? All my life I've been just another girl, just another cheerleader, just another gleek, just another bitch. But she was basically telling me I was special for making her feel special, and that I wasn't just some other person, and that she'd, like, remember this. That this really meant something to her, even if it was a really weird half-acting half-sexcapades deal. And that...that was kind of hard to digest, let alone fully believe, even if it was nice.

"You're just saying that...but thanks anyway, Berry." I mumbled, feeling a little vulnerable, something I wasn't at all comfortable with, now that there wasn't anyone to really focus on and be an outlet for it. I mean, yeah, me and Berry were naked and cuddling alone, but...well, the moment had passed, hadn't it? She wasn't crying anymore, she was happy. And that meant we were, like, back to normal.

I mean, we were ex-gleeks who just happened to, like, hook-up. And it was awesome, but where did that leave us?

"Santana, please don't...you...you were so nice to me, and I know I'm not crying, but if you're going to shut down on me, I might actually cry." Rachel whispered, the pout in her voice as noticeable as the tremor. And fuck, I didn't want Rachel to be upset again, but what the hell could I do? "At least call me by my name, please."

And, well, okay, I could do THAT, at least. "Rachel, you know what I mean."

Apparently, those were the wrong words, because Rachel pulled away from me, and that left me feeling kinda cold, and not just from the big temperature drop. Maybe I was in more of a cuddling mood than I thought...or maybe I just, you know, liked holding her. And maybe I would like some more time around her to figure out which of the two was at fault for how I felt.

"No, I don't, because you can't...you can't call me all those sweet names and then go back to calling me Berry, and hobbit, and...and..." Rachel started up, clearly working her way toward a big diva moment, and I knew that would probably end badly, so I did the only rational thing.

I put myself in the crossfire. And maybe I pulled her back up against me, too.

"Look, you acted your way through a lot of it, okay? I mean...I get it...what you're saying. I just...sex isn't a contract, Rachel. It doesn't have to make us anything." I stated about as assuredly as I could, hoping that she wasn't too far gone in her diva mindset to consider my words.

Thankfully, she seemed to deflate a bit, before curling up against me. "You're right." The two words were mumbled, and quiet, but totes audible, and I would have laughed over the victory had it not been a moderately intimate moment going on. And, hell, if it didn't make me feel a little empty as well.

"I am?" I asked, feeling pretty sure Rachel would just eventually boost my ego by saying it again, but hey, I never said I wasn't a proud person. Or, at least stubbornly proud over things like winning. Even if it felt like a hollow victory. Wins were wins, right?

"You are, Santana. This...what we shared doesn't need to make us anything." Rachel asserted again, though the soft way she spoke 'shared' had me feeling...something in my chest that didn't usually happen. Like, really ever at all. And when Rachel's hands moved up my back to hold me around my shoulder blades, her head coming to rest against the side of mine, I felt many a strong urge to just turn her and take those lips again.

"I'm sensing a 'but' here..." I noted quietly as her cheek nuzzled mine, feeling myself falling back into the familiar openness from before. Except, Rachel wasn't crying. But it didn't change that I just wanted to keep holding her, and comforting her, which was...well, it was new. Not bad, and actually pretty good, but new.

"Your possible fetish aside, you did care for me. And you did call me beautiful, and a host of other names that will probably warm my heart all weekend. I guess what I'm wondering is...if you'd be at all interested in figuring out if there could be anything here." Rachel spoke all shaky and nervously, and if this wasn't the weirdest courting experience anyone had ever had, I'm sure it'd be close. And I couldn't help but consider it. I mean...okay, I was a little lonely, being new to New York an unconnected from the local scenes did that to a person.

But Rachel maybe wanting more? With ME? The girl who was basically born to be a star, who I could at least begrudgingly admit had a ridiculous amount of talent with a side order of monstrously large ambition, who had a smile that could melt me in three seconds flat, who had only ever dated boys...wanted to see about me?

I guess I'd been quiet for a bit, because she actually started talking again; quieter this time, her voice sounding legit tearful, and like hell if it didn't feel like being run over with a truck. I leaned back to get a look at Rachel's face, but the diva just looked away, which to me was a sign that she actually didn't want me to see she was upset, that maybe she was losing trust in me being good to her when she was. "I...I have a good memory, so I'll never forget your birthday, or any days special to you. I've been told I'm a good cuddler. I can dance and won't embarrass you at parties or...out. I can bake well, and I'm told my sugar cookies are fantastic. I can sing you any song you could ask for, and...and I have a number of Breadstix certificates my aunt keeps buying me, probably because she's a lazy gift-giver and thinks I'm underweight, but still. Useful for when you go back to Lima to visit. I can cry on demand for your benefit and...well, not only on demand, as you can see, and...and I know I'm a diva, and I'm obnoxious, and I'm not popular, but I'm a very driven, intense person, and..."

Rachel's tearful ramblings were getting to be a bit much for my heart, as if she had to prove herself or something. Honestly, she'd won me over at 'cuddler', and totally won me over at 'Breadstix', but I'd let her believe it was none of the above, or at least make her ponder what it was that had me turning her head to press my lips against hers, cherishing how Rachel just seemed to mold herself against me the moment we kissed.

After a few seconds I pulled away with a smirk and a finger to my lips, drawing a happy, if confused, expression from the girl. Quickly, I made my way off the cushy chair and over to my dufflebag, grabbing a spare set of sweats and my NYU letterman jacket. Knowing that I probably wouldn't, or at least shouldn't, be having sex in the next half hour, I tossed on a Cheerios sweater and made my way back to Rachel.

The diva's mocha brown eyes followed me with an intimidating sort of interest as I held out the jacket for her. Rachel kept looking from the jacket to me, and back again, her confused little frown deepening as she went all scrunchy-face on me. Since she wasn't taking the clear signs, I rolled my eyes in the protest of what I was about to do.

Gently, I took Rachel's hand and lifted her to her feet, carefully guiding Rachel's arms into the jacket, then securing the zipper and snaps. Once done, Berry looked as befuddled as I'd ever seen her, which honestly was saying something, given how she'd reacted to Britt's 'pregnancy scare'.

"There...I figured it'd fit you." I noted with that same old smooth reassuring tone I'd used before, hoping it would put Rachel at ease a bit more. Thankfully, Rachel was as predictable as me, and a smile broke across her lips, even if just for a bit. "You know what it's made of?"

Rachel's head cocked to the side before checking around for a tag of some sort. I rolled my eyes again at Berry taking everything so literally. Seriously, I'd have to teach the diva a thing or two, which...well, I wasn't opposed to doing.

"I don't know...cotton? Some leather?" Rachel asked, her mouth twisting into a grimace on the last word.

At that, I took hold of her hands, mostly to keep them still from searching, knowing Rachel's attention was a little narrowly focused at the best of times. The action at least earned me a surprised gasp and a blooming, shy smile from the girl. It was kinda nice seeing her smile just because I was holding her hand. She really was pretty cute like that.

"It's made of a hundred percent girlfriend material, and fits you like a glove, mi angel." I answered, maybe letting that little piece of my heart slip out a special word or two, but Rachel seemed worth it. I was pretty sure she understood how much it meant that I would even say these things aloud to anyone.

Of course Rachel had to do that cute thing where her bottom lip recedes into her mouth and she curls in on herself as if she was a spring, totally prepared to just unleash herself and her enthusiasm at a moment's notice. And of course Rachel had to then smile one of those disarmingly bright smiles of hers.

And then there was kissing, but...

Well, I'm not sure how long we were at it, it being a haze of glorious passion and thundering hearts, but I found myself propped up on one of the vanities with her between my legs, cupping my face as she just kissed me into another dimension. It wasn't fair what her lips could do. It just really, really wasn't, especially when her sneaky fingers were working all my sensitive spots on autopilot.

Thankfully, before my head could explode, she pulled away, this devious little grin on her face. "So...how does Callsigns sound, tonight? Nine o'clock? I'll pick you up?"

My mind immediately jumped to a number of awesome scenarios. Mack sessions in the cab, because as kinda shady as the drivers could be, the cabs usually had a lot of room in there for maneuvering. Me indulging myself on the dance floor at Rachel's encouragement, which, fuck yes. Walking into Rachel's favourite hotspot with a beautiful girl on my arm, who's also wearing my jacket. Rachel bringing me home tonight to my empty-for-the-weekend apartment, and maybe letting me invite her inside for some coffee and round two.

I nodded slowly to mask my excitement over the idea, and hoped to distract Rachel by running my hands up and down the arms of the jacket. Didn't want to seem too eager and lose my mystique or anything. "Just whatever you wear, wear this too. Please."

Rachel closed the distance once more, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to my lips. "I'd need a very good reason to take this off before bedtime tonight. I'm very fond of it."

"Callsigns at nine it is, then." I husked out against her ear before sliding off the vanity and taking hold of the makeup bag I'd left there earlier that day. "Now, I should get home and start getting ready for tonight. There's this girl I'm seeing, and I want to make a good impression."

"Oh really?" Rachel's sass-levels spiked at that, though I couldn't very well offer a retort with her hands suddenly snaking around my waist and her body pressing into my back. "I suppose you'd best run along then, darling. Wouldn't want for you to be late."

Truthfully, the d-word caught me off guard, not really used to being referred to with those sorts of terms of endearments or pet names. It felt damn good though, and, well, I could see why Rachel liked it coming from me. So maybe I turned around in her arms and kissed her neck a bit, to show my appreciation.

"See you at nine, preciosa." I whispered, leaving a lingering kiss to her nose before moving out of her personal space and toward the auditorium door.

When I reached it, hand on the bar to open it, I glanced back at Rachel, who was still very blatantly staring after me. With a blown kiss in her direction, I stepped out of the dark auditorium and down the dimly lit halls toward the exit, thinking that as far as Friday evenings go, this might just be the best I've ever had.


	18. Of Clingy Drunks and Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel’s at the glee xmas party, a little drunk, a little clingy, and a little sad that she has no one to cling to. A trip to the kitchen changes…well, not everything, but a lot of things. (One-Shot, Rachel/Santana romance)

The scene was set, the junior year glee Christmas party was well underway at the Lopez household, and most of Rachel's fellow 'gleeks' were good and drunk. Happily so, if everyone's smiles and laughter were any indication. And truth be told, the warmth she'd gained from her two coolers had Rachel feeling somewhat pleasant, but she couldn't consider herself happy. Dang it, she was a clingy drunk, and had no one to cling to!

Sure, she'd always had a feeling she was that type of drunk, having had a tendency to linger closer to family and friends whenever she had a glass of wine, but having it confirmed was disconcerting, if only because it seemed nearly everyone in glee was paired up except her, leaving her alone. What good was being a clingy drunk with no one to cling to? No good, that's what!

It had Rachel frowning a little as she got up for a glass of water to help deal with the sadness creeping up on her mildly decent mood, only for that mood to quickly plummet at the sight of the mistletoe. She'd seen a number of the glee couples stop underneath it and kiss, but she hadn't been stopped. She hadn't been kissed underneath it. Heck, she hadn't been kissed away from it either. It was decidedly undramatic and uneventful, and Rachel just wanted something to happen.

As that thought crossed her mind, Puck called out to start up a drinking game, the gleeks quickly congregating around the coffee table in the living room. Technically, Rachel's internal call for something to happen was answered, but with every space around the table filled, and each couple cuddling together, it only made it that much harder to take. Silently, she hoped again for something else to happen, as she stood up and planned a trip to get a drink, feeling as if she were going to cry, and that just would have been embarrassing. Part of her thought it might be best to skip through the kitchen and just leave, but given she was never invited to parties, she decided to hold out hope that her night would end much better than it had been up to that point.

The brief trek to the kitchen was entirely tame, with no comments or happenstance interactions or anything that might have made her night happier or more interesting. Rachel quickly grabbed a tall glass from one of the rather ornate cabinets. Honestly, for all of Santana's talk about being from Lima Heights adjacent, she'd expected to be met with a run down duplex upon arrival. Instead, the girl lived in one of the nicest homes she'd ever visited, and as she had nothing better to do, and no one to cling to, Rachel took a few moments to appreciate the ornately detailed wooden cabinets. They were along the lines of what she thought she'd like when she eventually became a star on Broadway.

After making a mental note of that, Rachel filled her cup with some comfortably cool water to take care of her thirst and sadness, knowing her double whammy desire that her fathers conditioned into her would be quenched nonetheless. The water slid down her throat, almost immediately ridding her eyes of the tears that had welled up there.

Still, the kitchen was quite large, quite lacking in people to be near, quite free of happy dramatic moments, so it was still a pretty sad situation. Rachel glanced down the hall to the foyer, considering taking her leave again, but her desire to have fun at a party for once won out. As far as she knew, tonight's party could be her only one during her whole time in high school, and Rachel Berry was going to try her best to make it a night to remember.

With renewed determination, Rachel spun and around and marched back toward the living room, or attempted to. Her body collided with another one a step and a half after her turn, her glass of water spilling all over her festive reindeer sweater.

The feeling of cool water soaking into her favourite winter sweater was similar to the sad disappointment spreading into her heart, thinking that maybe it would have been better to leave instead of stick around for it to get worse.

"Jeez, Berry. What the hell?" Santana's familiar tone filled Rachel's ears, and she could almost cry at her terrible luck. Accidentally colliding with the host of the party, the grumpiest, hot-tempered gleek, was probably the most disastrous thing she could have done.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry, Santana!" Rachel cried out as she braced for impact, expecting retaliation, but instead of a punch to the face or torso, she felt her sweater be tugged a little.

"Okay, I know you're a little buzzed, tiny, but even you should know that wearing a soaking wet sweater's not a good idea." Santana chirped, sounding almost playful as Rachel watched her head to the fridge and pull out the tray of fruit the diva had brought as potential party food. The idea of it actually being used was a little nice, even if it was probable that it would all get soaked in vodka for the drinking game, or something of the sort.

Given that Santana hadn't acknowledged her apology, and that finally someone was relatively close to her, Rachel decided to just stay still and enjoy the moment; one where if someone didn't look too closely, it might seem as if they were friends.

Santana was nearly out of the kitchen when she stopped and looked over her shoulder at Rachel. "Are you just going to stand there?" The girl asked, waiting out Rachel's hesitation before placing the fruit tray on the counter and stepped into the diva's personal space. "Come on, Thumbelina, let's get that off you before you freeze and spend the next month complaining about pneumonia."

"But...but what'll I wear?" She asked, her eyes focusing on the nearly empty cup of water in her hands, wishing it were alcohol so she could drink it and forget the embarrassment of the moment.

Santana offered no answer, only helping Rachel out of the sopping wet sweater and letting it fall to the tiled floor, the garment landing with a wet smack. The house had been cool with the sweater before, but in just a camisole, Rachel couldn't help but shiver a little.

Oddly enough, without rolling her eyes, Santana slipped off her denim jacket and handed it to Rachel. Even if it was cropped off quite high, and hadn't covered much of the girl's body, it had looked quite nice on her. Rachel wasn't sure she could pull it off.

"Santana, it's cool in here. You being cold to help me warm up won't make anything better." Rachel argued, but Santana just mumbled something in Spanish at her and slipped her arms into the jacket. Honestly, the residual warmth was lovely, and like her arms were being hugged. Which, given her tendency to cling, felt quite wonderful.

"Interesting way of thanking me, Berry. Anyway, I'll manage. Now let's get back before Puck and Quinn kill each other." Santana stated with a grin that Rachel wasn't used to being the beneficiary of. Certainly, Santana had a remarkably pretty smile, and it had her tummy feeling warm that the girl had smiled at her specifically. Well, it was that or the coolers, but she decided it was Santana's generosity of not flipping out on her over knocking into her, and sharing her coat, and everything.

Besides, if Santana wanted to head back to the living room with the others, alongside one Rachel Berry, she was NOT going to complain. As sneakily as Rachel could manage, she walked as close to Santana as possible en route, but soon found herself physically halted all of a sudden. Feeling a little off-balance, Rachel looked down to better understand where to put her feet to keep from falling over, and found Santana's hand on her stomach, holding her still.

Confused, Rachel looked back up to Santana, who was uncharacteristically biting her lip and looking further up, leading Rachel's gaze to ascend and find the both of them stopped underneath the mistletoe. The very same mistletoe that had taunted her all night.

Rachel's eyes fell from the festive twigs and berries back to Santana, expecting rejection, but instead found those dark, soulful eyes staring intently into her own. Unsure what exactly was going on, and even more unsure about what Santana's expression meant, Rachel blindly grabbed for the taller girl's hand, needing to feel grounded given her current situation.

However, just as she found Santana's hand, another hand slowly skimmed up her arm, Rachel shivering with anticipation as it crossed the distance across her shoulder and neck to tangle itself in her hair. It was only with the briefest gasp that she closed her eyes and angled her head, hoping and praying that Santana would have mercy on her.

It seemed like forever, waiting on the fiery cheerleader to act, but then the softest lips ever pillowed against her top lip, Santana squeezing her hand back as the girl stepped away, leaning back on the doorframe.

Rachel thought Santana's cheeks might have been a bit darker, and the girl's eyes kept nervously darting back to the group of gleeks in the living room who were entirely unaware of their lip-lock. Even a little drunk, Rachel could tell Santana was nervous, but she really didn't want Santana to be, so she slipped into the taller girl's personal space and pulled her head back down for another kiss.

And maybe she was a little clumsy, and maybe she was kind of leaning on Santana for balance, and maybe Rachel used a little tongue earlier than most would have, but when Santana started kissing back and pulled her closer, it totally made her night worth it. There she was, clinging to Santana, kissing Santana under the mistletoe, and happily buzzed; as far as she was concerned, the night could not possibly get any better.

It was only when Rachel's hands had migrated to Santana's amazingly round bum, and her lips had begun their trail down the taller girl's neck, that the cheerleader tugged lightly at her hair, a clear enough sign to disengage. Rachel could hardly contain her smile as she looked back into those newly amused and likely aroused dark brown eyes. The lighting wasn't optimal, so the pupil size was difficult to tell, but she was pretty sure Santana's were blown wide open, which was a wonderful feeling.

"So...if I invited you up to my room, could you promise not to climb me like a tree?" Santana asked, teeth digging into that lovely lower lip of hers. Rachel did her best to feign offense, but apparently it wasn't taken seriously, Santana breaking out into a giggle-fit. "Don't give me that, tiny, you're the clingiest drunk I know."

Rachel let out a sigh and, as a show of willpower, disengaged her hold on Santana's shapely hips, fiddling with the hem of her camisole instead. On one hand, she could promise Santana and refrain. On the other, she could promise not to, and word it in a way to make Santana want that promise to be broken. Feeling a little confident given her quick turn of luck tonight, she went for the second option.

"I can refrain...but I would think that if two people were kissing, one 'climbing the other like a tree' could make for a rather nice array of positions." Rachel mumbled, feeling a little self-conscious about being so clingy. Honestly, she didn't think it was such a bad thing to have someone hugging and cuddling her; in truth she welcomed it.

After a few quiet moments, Rachel felt Santana pull her closer, the girl's arm slipping around the diva's waist. "Point taken, Rachel." Santana whispered, the words feeling like almost as much of a win as the kiss the cheerleader planted on her cheek.

Rachel happily let Santana guide her further into the home and up to the second floor, knowing she had someone to cling to, someone to kiss, someone to keep warm with, and appropriately celebrate the holiday season with. It didn't matter to her that Santana wanted to keep it all a bit quiet, she was all for making the most of their privacy and the night at hand. And maybe, come the morning, she would consider the circumstances and any possible changes.

For now, she had 'Santa Baby' looping in her head, and was eagerly awaiting the time when she could present to Santana her impeccable breath control.


	19. Bets and Dares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana is the dare-queen of McKinley. Her 100% track record of completing dares is something of legend, in her mind. But bets are even better… (Part 1 of 4 in series, crackfic-ish)

Santana was a little annoyed, to say the least. As usual, she was following her weekly Friday routine, attending Puck's party, but she'd been sucked into a pretty darn ruthless game of truth or dare. Not that she'd been paying a tremendous amount of attention to it, but it had put her in her current situation, sitting on Trouty-Mouth's lap.

Now, Santana was okay with Sam, she really was. He was cool enough, and kind of goofy in an endearing way if you could get past the fact that his lips were bigger than Lisa Renna's. She honestly didn't mind the guy, because he was sweet, even if he was kind of simple. Still, if she had her choice of lap-seats, he wouldn't have finished top three, but she'd been dared. And she was currently enduring the unbelievable fact that despite his guppy lips being big enough to swallow entire babies, he was still somehow missing his mouth as he tried to drink.

She had been challenged to sit on Sam's lap for fifteen minutes, and she was always adventurous with dares. It was usually all in good fun, and despite her reputation for being promiscuous, she'd earned her 'Never-Say-No' rep through Truth or Dare. There wasn't a single thing she wasn't willing to do on a dare, outside of federal offenses, at least ones that she could easily be caught and arrested for. Santana wasn't an idiot, after all. She knew that there was always that one percent of battles she couldn't pick. Thankfully, no one ever dared her to murder a family with a cleaver or anything, because it'd be kind of really weird, and she'd lose her rep for obviously taking a drink instead.

But dares were boring. Sure, they made for fun stories, and it ensured she'd be popular at parties no matter what, but there was a lack of value in them. She could only wait her turn and dare the person in response, and while sometimes that was fun, she didn't usually care too much about embarrassing people. That was Quinn's thing, and why she was sitting on Sam's lap at the moment. Santana preferred competition. She preferred to win.

Which is why her ears had perked up when, on her way off Sam's lap, the sound of Puck and Quinn arguing about her off in the corner filtered in. It was a normal sight, with the two often combining their efforts to think up creative dares in attempt to foil Santana's streak, but she'd never seen the two in such a heated debate.

"What are you two blabbering about this time? Please, tell me you've discovered some sort of creativity for once because I'm starting to get bored." Santana noted as she approached them, rolling her eyes in mock protest. She wasn't THAT bored. It was just nice to rile them up, because Puck took his party host responsibilities seriously, and Quinn hated having her creativity called into question.

Understandably, both turned to her with glares, but Santana was used to it. Quinn's glare would freeze most people in their tracks, but she knew Q would never harm a hair on her head. Not unless it was in self-defense. Santana knew that the blonde loved her like a sister, and she enjoyed exploiting that sometimes, because Quinn did the same to her.

"I was just telling Puck that you wouldn't be nice and affectionate with Berry at school if you were ever dared." Quinn stated, her glare turning back on Puck, who flinched at its potency; Santana knew Puck wasn't as hard as he pretended to be. It was cool, most people were scared shitless of Quinn. And her blonde captain was kind of on the right track. Normally, Santana wouldn't choose to come within a mile of Berry, let alone decide to touch her, but a bet was a bet. Quinn should have understood that much.

"And I bet her that you would, because Rachel's a hot, Jewish-American princess. I was just trying to see how confident she was, but she's pretty set that you wouldn't." Puck retorted, staring challengingly at Quinn in return, and Santana could only smile at the delicious opportunity before her. Not Berry, although she could begrudgingly admit that her target could have been much, much worse than Rachel. The girl had a devilish set of legs that she hid under those skirts and knee socks, so it wasn't like the diva was flawed beyond redemption; far from it, in truth. For all their teasing and insults, the girl was pretty okay looking, and she had a really nice bubble butt. But that wasn't the opportunity that Santana was excited about, despite her occasional moment of curiosity over the diva.

See, dares were one thing, but bets were dares with prizes. And Santana loved prizes, because they were free, and people got them for winning, sometimes winning them from other people. And, as most people knew, Santana loved winning. Plus, she loved proving that she was a badass, and if she could infuriate Quinn in the process by making her lose to Puck in something, all the better.

"Monday, all day, I'll treat Berry like Britt." Santana stated confidently, earning a steely look from Quinn that had Santana thinking the blonde was one step away from 'Murderous Quinn'. Mostly because Santana knew that Quinn knew that if she lost the bet, she'd lose to Puck. And that was absolutely unacceptable for her captain. Sure, Santana knew Quinn believed she had limits, but the blonde was never a hundred percent sure where they extended to.

"Pinkie holding and the odd shoulder nudge won't cut it, San. I bet you wouldn't be possessive and treat Berry like you used to treat Britt privately." Quinn added, and immediately Puck's eyebrows rose up on his forehead, sending Santana a disbelieving look of his own.

"Yeah, okay, I mean, Berry's a hot Jew, but I don't think even you'd do that." Puck stated as he shook his head, apparently thrown by Quinn upping the challenge. While it wasn't all that creative, Santana knew that Quinn liked pushing her buttons a bit. The blonde knew that for months, she and Britt had fooled around and had something of a relationship before her dancer BFF left her for Artie. She knew that Santana was hesitant about showing any sort of lady love in the school halls, for fear of outing herself and all the consequences that would come with it.

But for weeks, Santana had really done some thinking, and she'd recruited Britt's help in understanding herself, and coming to terms with her sexuality. It hadn't been easy, and she was still really nervous about it, and being out at school was still kind of scary, but not so much anymore that she'd step away from a bet. After all, if she won the bet, she'd be able to claim victory over both Quinn and Puck, AND she'd get prizes. Santana had a reputation to live up to, after all.

"If I do this, I get two 'get out of practice free' cards from you, Q, and Puck…you're getting me a bottle of 4 Copas. If I don't, you get to spread the word that I broke my rep, and you get to claim victory over me. I'll even buy you two those ridiculous '#1 Winner' helium balloons. Sound fair?" Santana asked, setting up the stakes for the bet. She really did want another bottle of tequila, and it'd be great having the ability to get Quinn to bail her out of practices for free. Santana knew how difficult it could be with Sue, so she knew Quinn's part of the bet was the hardest.

Still, Quinn stared at her intensely, an impish smile forming on her face. "Only if you bring the balloons to us in school, in front of everyone." The blonde stated, clearly enjoying the prospect of embarrassing her, and obviously believing in her victory. True, it'd be pretty horrible to deliver the damn balloons, but she wasn't so drunk that she was falling into some trap. Santana would win. Period. Never in her life had she lost a bet, and she'd make sure Quinn remembered that by the end of Monday.

Just because her target was Berry, another girl, didn't mean she was about to back off. She'd do every bet like she did her dares. She'd go hard, and she'd make Berry sweat while she was at it. Why not enjoy herself while she could? The bonus of making the diva squirm was just too enticing to pass up.


	20. Cupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck’s not cupid or anything. He just wants to be a good lesbro. (Part 2 in series, crackfic-ish, Puck POV)

Puck totally knew he wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box. Really, it wasn't his thing. His reputation as a 'sex-shark' was pretty damn accurate, and it largely meant that he didn't have much time or motivation to do all that well in school. His dad was a dead-beat, and his mom had her GED, so he didn't grow up with a hell of a lot of role models when it came to education. He acted out as a kid, and that meant teachers hadn't put as much effort in with him as the rest, so fuck them, right? Besides, he was an entrepreneur anyway, he had his own pool cleaning business. And if people thought he was some kind of brainiac, he'd be a lot less cool.

But, as a 'sex-shark', he paid a hell of a lot of attention during sex because, again, he had a reputation to protect. So one night when he'd woken up past midnight after a forgettable romp with Santana, and heard the cheerleader moaning what sounded a lot like Rachel's name, well he had to do something. Santana was his bro, of sorts, and Rachel was his Jewbro from temple, and it was, like, his responsibility as a sex-shark to get those two hot asses scissoring or shit.

And he honestly couldn't have been happier to plant the seed at his last party, knowing full well that Santana would never back down from a dare, no matter how crazy, and that Quinn would hedge her bets on the notion that Lopez had limits and would be too much of a coward. Sure, there was a moment of doubt, but once he'd joined Quinn in putting Santana up to the task, the girl had gotten a devious twinkle in her eye that had only meant he'd been successful.

So there he stood at his locker, watching Santana move through the hall like a goddamn sex-demon toward Rachel. The girl's sensuality just wasn't fair sometimes, and it totally wasn't his fault if he drooled a little; no one probably noticed, not with her sauntering like that. And it wasn't like he was some pro or anything at fixing people up; that wasn't his wheelhouse, he looked out for the Puckasaurus ninety-nine percent of the time. It's just that he really, really wanted to be someone's lezbro, and he wasn't about to pass that chance up.

And knew Berry better than most; he knew the pocket-sized diva rarely ever talked to Santana because of how the cheerleader regularly got her hot and bothered by just walking by, shooting her a snide remark, or merely being brought up in discussion. Puck had known the girl since they were kids, and he knew full well that when everyone was singing and dancing with each other in glee, that Rachel always ended up around Santana for a reason. And that she'd shown her hand to the cheerleader a bit during sectionals in sophomore year. Santana was, like, Rachel's sexy kryptonite, if kryptonite was magnetic and awesome. Or maybe she was the Luigi to Rachel's Mario, if both characters were steaming hot, lesbian plumbers that were totally unrelated. Shit, he'd play the hell out of that video-game.

Either way, he hoped Berry would take the golden opportunity he set up for her. He did, after all, like playing cupid sometimes, at least when it involved pairing up two hot ladies who could make out in the halls while he watched. His last two tries had bombed hard, though, but maybe the third time was the charm, or whatever that saying was.

Puck panicked once he realized Santana was almost a foot away from the diva and he didn't have any popcorn, or a camera to record it all with. Bummed out, he decided to just sit back and watch, wishing he had snacks. The show, after all, was about to begin.


	21. Obvious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel’s pretty sure it’s entirely obvious just what she’s feeling right now, with Santana holding her, the girl’s lips ghosting against her ear. (Part 3 of 4 in series, crackfic-ish, Rachel/Santana)

It was obvious to Rachel that Santana was playing some cruel game or prank on her, or that someone had put the cheerleader up to what she was doing. After years of torment, indifference, and hostility, there was simply no other answer for such a break in the girl's previously consistent behavior.

When Rachel had arrived at school that morning, late due to her father needing to pick up a package before dropping her off, the halls had already been bustling. She'd made her way as quickly as she could to her locker, promptly and efficiently transferring the proper set of books to her backpack in preparation for the morning's pre-lunch classes. It ensured that she'd spend less time in the halls and vulnerable to slushies between classes, of course.

Yet, just as she had closed her locker and clicked her combination padlock shut, she felt two slim arms tangle themselves around her waist, freezing her in place. Immediately, she glanced down and saw tanned arms just as a warm body pressed against her back. Rachel knew those arms, those hands, that bracelet.

So there she stood, trying to figure out why Santana was hugging her from behind, trying to determine what her motive would be. And then, ultimately, trying to hold onto her capacity for complex thought as she felt the softest lips press against the crook of her neck, peppering brief, sensual kisses across her quickly heating skin.

It was obvious that she was turned on. Rachel was sure that if anyone looked at her, and she was sure people were, that they'd see nothing but lust in her expression. She wasn't moving, and barely breathing, but it was obvious what the other girl was doing to her, how she was reacting. How much she wanted it to continue.

Rachel had harboured a crush on Santana since eighth grade, and while she'd gone over all possible situations and their consequences in her head over the years, she didn't have the will to really care about what would happen a week from then, or a month from then, or when the proverbial egg was on her face. No, she didn't care that it was all likely a joke or some game, all Rachel knew was that she was getting what she'd wanted all along. She also knew that even if Santana was put up to it, that she'd ensure the cheerleader continue. She was Rachel Barbra Berry, and she got what she wanted out of life, and she'd make some lemonade with the lemons she was offered, especially if they were temporarily unpressed. And she'd sit back and enjoy it for as long as she could make it last.

She let herself lean backward into the girl's touch, humming contentedly, deciding to just let herself be free of the expectations surrounding her behavior. It simply wasn't the time to leave any consideration for that, not when she could behave as if what was happening was a regular, everyday occurrence. "Mmmm…good morning, Santana." She sighed, smiling as one of the cheerleader's hands slipped just slightly beneath her sweater, tracing small shapes on her sides.

"Just good, Berry?" Santana purred against her ear, her words sending a shiver down her spine as her earlobe was quickly nipped. Honestly, the things she would do to Santana. Good gravy, the things she'd let Santana do to her! She slipped one arm up and let the tips of her fingers graze their way up the side of Santana's face, moving them further to cup the back of the girl's head when she heard her breath hitch.

"It'd be better if I knew for sure you had breakfast, but I might just have to wait until lunch to ensure you're properly fed." Rachel husked out in her sultriest tone, hoping to surprise the Cheerio, perhaps catch her off guard.

"Dios mío, ¿estás loco?" Santana muttered breathlessly, her breath hitching again as Rachel subtly shifted backward and ground her butt into the Cheerio. It was a victorious feeling to know that she could affect the other girl that way, and she wasn't sure the smile on her face would ever fade, at least not for the rest of the day, or perhaps the rest of the week.

Though when Santana kissed the corner of her jaw, her prediction almost failed as her knees buckled and she had to stifle a moan from the overwhelming sensation. It had always been a tremendously sensitive spot that she now understood was a rather pleasant area to receive affection. Luckily, the cheerleader's grip held her tight, ensuring she wouldn't fall.

Santana simply chuckled and turned Rachel around in her arms before tightening her grip again, their faces a mere inch or two apart, her own curious eyes staring into the other girl's intense, amused gaze. Rachel allowed herself to take in the humour of almost collapsing from a single kiss; a thankful grin showing her appreciation seemed to grab some of the cheerleader's attention, Santana's eyes flitting down to look at her lips for a few heated moments. The warning bell sounded through the halls, and for the first time, Rachel didn't really care too much; she was happy right where she was, thank you.

However, Santana let her go, the girl's hands trailing down her body as she did so, which Rachel honestly didn't mind. If it worked to convince her that she was appropriately feminine in figure, then by all means, even if she'd only allow it once. After all, Rachel did feel that her modesty was important; it was just that she wasn't above operating with some level of seduction in order to get what she wanted. And by the look in Santana's eyes, the girl seemed curious, which was a good thing. A very, very good thing.

Deciding to take advantage of the fact that neither had stepped away from each other yet, Rachel rested a palm on Santana's chest, just low enough to be provocative, but high enough to not be too inappropriate. "Why don't you fill your pretty little head with knowledge, and… if you're a good girl… maybe you'll be rewarded at lunch." She breathed out coyly, maintaining eye contact, perhaps biting her lip a little for effect during her pauses.

She watched Santana's eyes light up with surprise and a bit of curiosity at first, before something else entirely seeped in as she mentioned a potential reward. Happy with her efforts, she stepped back returning her hand to her side and grabbing her backpack, maintaining the coy smile she'd been unable to repress.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Santana shaking her head, once again muttering faint words in Spanish. As she slipped her backpack on, she found Santana once again in her personal space, smiling down at her, looking entirely amused. In a flash, before she could even process what was going on, Santana had leaned forward, planting a quick kiss to her nose. Gobsmacked, Rachel stood still as Santana stepped back wearing a sly smile of her own, dark predatory eyes holding the diva's gaze. "I'll be waiting in the choir room, Tink."

With that, Santana turned and walked down the hall. Well, it was more like a saunter, and Rachel couldn't help but wonder if Santana had been a succubus in another life or two. It simply wasn't fair how sexy that girl could be. As usual, she took her time staring after the cheerleader, studying her retreating form until the girl stopped a ways down the hall. Rachel lifted her gaze and saw Santana looking over her shoulder, clearly having caught her not-so-subtle ogling. Still, Santana was a rather blatant flirt at the best of times, so Rachel held her gaze and gave a little wave of her own as the cheerleader laughed and went on her way, letting Rachel continue what she'd been doing before.

And it was obvious to anyone with eyes that she was entirely unapologetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry if my Spanish isn't up to task here. Been a long time since I used it, and duolingo's only so useful.


	22. Nervous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana’s nervously waiting in the choir room for Rachel, hoping to cash in on meeting Berry’s conditions. She’s already won the bet, so what’s the harm in going the extra mile for a bit of a bonus? (Part 4 of 4 in series, crackfic-ish, Rachel/Santana)

Santana would never in her life admit that she was nervous about lunch with Berry. It simply wasn't something she could vocalize, because who the hell got nervous over lunch? Seriously, it was a time to eat food, with people around, or whatever. Nothing special or anything, yet she sat there on the risers, her knee bobbing uncontrollably as she tried to calm herself down. It was just lunch. It was lunch with Rachel Berry, one of her all time favourite people to pick on. No reason to be nervous.

But she was, and Santana didn't know how to handle that. In fact, when she woke up that morning, she hadn't expected that her day would have progressed as it had.

Santana hadn't expected much from the diva when she approached her. She'd hoped that Berry would have seen her approaching, but it was still nice to surprise the brunette. At the time, she'd braced herself for a response; the girl's initial freeze-up was what she expected, but everything after it had been beyond anything she'd thought up. Santana had thought Berry would have gone full tilt into a rant about reciprocal affection and the importance of it during intimate conduct, or perhaps for the girl to simply run off in a blind panic, thinking she was about to be roped into some horrible prank.

Instead, Rachel had relaxed and eased into her touch, allowing Santana's hands free reign during the embrace. On top of that, the tiny, weirdly dressed diva teased the shit out of her and made innuendo and everything; it had become quite clear that Berry wasn't the prude or strictly straight girl Santana thought she was, and that changed a lot in the cheerleader's mind, leaving a lot of unanswered questions.

The primary one was more or less what the reward Rachel talked about was. Hey, she liked prizes, and rewards were like prizes, they were just won in a different way; it wasn't a competition, but more like an aptitude test. It was still a prize, and she couldn't keep that off of her mind all morning. Especially that Santana receiving it was on the condition that she was a 'good girl', which only made things more interesting, because she rarely had the excuse to be sweet.

Santana had played the role of the 'good girl' all morning long, carrying the diva's books on the way to chemistry, English and geography, running her hand up the diva's arms affectionately, and giving her parting hugs and chaste kisses on the nose or cheek. She'd even called the diva by her first name, waved to her each time they parted ways, and let the damn girl get away with smacking her ass once! It'd taken all she could to not explode on the diva, even if Berry had been right and Santana had been late to her next class. But still, no one ever had the gall to slap her ass, and she was kind of pissed about it! Well, that is, if she hadn't been so shocked and kind of intrigued at Rachel's brazen actions. Santana had been nice, and let her off with a warning wag of the finger, but by the wink she received, it was clear that Berry wasn't the least bit frightened by her. In short, she'd been a damn good girl, and she was looking forward to her reward, especially since she'd totally clinched the bet with Puck and Quinn. Santana honestly kind of hoped it lead to a macking session with the diva, because she'd always been a bit curious to see if Rachel's mouth could work some magic outside of singing. She kind of liked the idea of putting Berry's breath control to the test.

But after all of that, her other question was how Berry knew that she liked being teased, that she liked that sort of playful, flirtatious dynamic. Sure, Santana wasn't about to complain about it, because the whole morning was a hell of a lot of fun, but it still registered pretty high on her confusion chart. Santana had always been curious and a bit of a snoop, so she liked having answers. She liked knowing things, which is why she was usually really perceptive, but she'd never seen Rachel act that way around anyone before in her life, so it was just kind of mind-boggling. Santana wasn't sure if Berry was just acting and playing along with her, having assumed she was put up to teasing the diva, or if Rachel was just reacting naturally to her flirting and teasing, which no one had ever treated the singer to, from her memory at least.

Ultimately, she knew her questions would eventually be answered in full, so she'd gone home during her free period before lunch to prepare. After all, Santana went hard after her bets, and she didn't half ass shit when she was interested in something. Under normal circumstances, she would have just had one of Sue's shakes for lunch, but she figured that some homemade salads and some fresh vegan cookies would work to her favour. Santana only had time to make a dozen before returning to school, but she was pretty sure they'd be awesome either way. Yet another sacrifice, as she refused to dip into her batch before Rachel did. Fuck, was she going to win the goddamn 'good girl' prize of the day! Honestly, it was the only thing keeping her remotely focused as she sat waiting in the choir room. Santana knew that all she'd have to do was be patient as hell for Berry to show up, and everything could be cool. Because Rachel Berry wasn't anyone to be nervous about, but she was damn curious nonetheless. She was worked up, she was tempted, and even though Santana felt unnerved by it all, she was excited.

At least, until the lunch bell rang and time slowed to a crawl. And then a minute passed. And then five minutes had passed. And then when it hit the seven minute mark, Santana decided that patience could go fuck itself, she'd make up for it by finding Rachel and walking her to the choir room.

She quickly packed everything back up and left the glee club's home, paying close attention to the lightly populated halls as she made her way toward the diva's locker. It was basically a direct path from the choir room, so there was no way that the brunette would have gone another route. Her heart was beating loudly in her chest as she turned the corner into the hall were both of their lockers resided, but it felt like it had fallen from her chest when she noticed the utter lack of Rachel Berry in her sights. And as she neared the diva's locker and spotted fallen splotches of blue raspberry slushie, Santana felt like she was about to burst into flames.

The first thing she did was set a mental reminder to kick someone's ass for getting in the way of her goals. Santana knew it was either Quinn for being upset that she won the bet, a random Cheerio for being so obtuse that she didn't realize Santana was practically sheltering Berry from trouble all morning, and that fucking MEANT something, or the stupid fucking jocks.

But that only took a millisecond to do, which left her to only have a minimally delayed reaction in finding the nearest washroom, which happened to be a few yards away, small drips of slushie guiding the way.

When Santana entered the area, quietly and cautiously as to not startle the diva, she found the washroom visibly empty. It was only the light hiccupping sobs coming from one of the stalls that let her know that someone was inside. She knelt down, seeing only one familiar pair of feet, before locking the door from the inside, jamming the hinge with one of the steel rods she kept around in her bag strictly for such instances. It was just that usually, they were instances of happiness, pranks, and all sorts of fun things, not sad times.

She slowly stepped further into the room, her gaze locked onto the door to the stall that Rachel was inside. "Rachel?" Santana called out nervously, not really all that sure of what to do. She'd never been incredible at comforting people. That was Britt's area of expertise, though the blonde had more or less helped her be capable by example. Santana just hoped that would be good enough. "Are you okay?"

"Go away, you…you've made y…your point, Santana. I d…don't wish to take part in…in your victory celebr...brations." the girl sobbed out quietly, but not without that trademark firm tone that Berry used when she was upset, that kind of made everyone else feel like crap. And really, even though she hadn't been at fault at all, she still did, knowing her past had made the girl think she'd tricked her. Santana knew that even if she had ordered it, she certainly never would have celebrated. She'd never done that after giving Rachel a slushie facial.

Santana walked up to the stall door, resting her hand on it, finding it predictably locked. She sighed, knowing it'd make it that much harder, not being able to see or touch the girl. "Rachel, tell me who did this to you, and I promise we can think of a fun way to get back at them, okay?" she asked, waiting a few moments for an answer, only to be met by silence, aside from the odd stifled sob. "Why would I slushie you when I was having an awesome time this morning? When we had lunch set up?"

"Because you wanted to hurt me, and…and congratulations San…Santana . You did." Rachel bit back, the diva's sadness palpable though her voice alone. Admittedly, Santana's first instinct was selfish, that she'd probably lose out on her reward, as well as learning why Rachel had flirted back, and that fucking sucked. It really, really did, and those thoughts held her mind for the first few seconds. It was then that she allowed herself to really take responsibility, because even if she hadn't slushied Rachel that day, she had in the past a number of times, and she hadn't won the girl's trust at all. That maybe Rachel was upset because of the idea that Santana had done it, which was weird, because if she'd worked Berry up like she had all morning, and wanted to tear her down, she would have done something far more creative than a slushie.

But she understood that Rachel didn't know that. She understood that the mere thought of her considering ways to hurt the diva only meant that she had a damn long ways to go until the pint-sized singer felt fully comfortable around her. Or, until she felt like she was trustworthy enough for the girl. And Santana wasn't sure why that was suddenly important to her, but she at least wanted to get them back to neutral ground, and in the privacy of the washroom, she was willing to put herself out there. Because fuck if she ever let herself lose a bet, dare or challenge when it was definitely within her reach. And really, she didn't want Rachel to be upset. Mopey Rachel was pretty much the most depressing thing in glee's history aside from Britt and Artie's relationship.

"I…I was really looking forward to lunch. I'm sorry I wasn't here to help, I went home and made some stuff, and…" she started, stumbling over her words, unsure what to even say at that point. She knew what damage she'd caused, but she just didn't know how to fix it. A fresh sense of desperation filled her, feeling her pride slipping out of reach. "I've been a good girl. Let me help you, I know you're probably hungry."

A few seconds passed in silence before the light rustling of material filled the room, and small footsteps made their way over to the stall door, a dainty hand opening it. Rachel stood there, her hair soaking wet and her eyes red and puffy, fresh tear streaks still marking the girl's cheeks. Santana was just happy that she'd brought her duffle bag to hold their lunch stuff, because her Cheerios stuff was inside too. Slowly, she knelt down to it and pulled it open, grabbing a fresh towel and a warm, baggy sweater Santana liked wearing after practices. Rachel cautiously watched every move, both hands still firmly on the stall door as Santana stood and offered the diva her sweater. "Let me dry your hair?" She asked softly, hoping the simplicity of the request would work in her favour.

The girl nodded silently and moved out of the stall and over to the mirrors. Immediately, Santana got to work, making sure to not be too rough, knowing her towel could cause split ends and breakage that Berry definitely wouldn't have enjoyed. As she gently worked the water out of Rachel's hair, she occasionally glanced at the mirror seeing the diva's attention intently on her. Beyond anything, the girl looked confused and uncertain, which was a little heartbreaking. Hey, she may have been a bitch, but she wasn't soulless. Santana was aware that nearly every time she'd slushied Berry, the diva had bounced back instantly without shedding a tear. She understood that after a morning of kindness and playful flirting, that she may have brought the girl's defenses down unintentionally, and that was on her. She knew Rachel was a walking, talking target, and Santana knew she should have been there to show the girl she was being consistent, that she wasn't a threat.

Even if she'd been put up to the whole thing by Quinn, she'd enjoyed herself. Santana wanted to keep going, and she didn't want to sacrifice all of that just for the chance to upset Berry. Seeing the girl so sad and with her torso legitimately drenched, she couldn't find pleasure in it if she tried. And Santana really didn't care to. She cared more about Rachel getting back to showing off that exciting, playful side again; and after that, the reward, of course.

As soon as she felt confident that she'd done as much as she could, Santana leaned down and planted a soft, simple kiss on the diva's exposed shoulder, hoping that Rachel would take it much like Britt used to, back when she couldn't say what she meant, back when her actions were the only way she'd speak. It was Santana's experience that simple affection spoke all the right words to set the heart at ease, and she hoped it had helped.

The small, brief smile that flickered on the girl's face felt like a victory, and she couldn't help but pull Berry in for another hug, finding themselves in the same position they'd been in earlier that morning. Still, it felt different there in the washroom, without an audience, with the air not charged with sexual tension. "We still have fifteen minutes left for lunch. To the choir room, or do you want to stay here?" she asked, resting her head on top of the diva's shoulder. Britt used to do that, and it'd always made her feel a little more connected. She hoped Rachel felt the same way.

"I'd prefer to get out of here." Rachel mumbled quietly, leaning ever so slightly into the embrace. Santana knew that flirty behavior just wasn't in the cards until the diva's mood rebounded, so she merely gave the girl another squeeze before unlocking the door, quickly leading Berry out of the washroom by the hand. Her face was stony and serious, challenging anyone to try anything, because she kind of really wanted to let out her anger on a willing party. Still, Santana was happy enough when they reached and entered the choir room doors without incident.

Rachel promptly made her way over to her usual seat in the front, her head bowed slightly, with dainty, obviously feminine hands resting in her lap. Santana followed suit, sitting on the floor in front of the weary girl, so that she could look up into her face more easily. Knowing they didn't have a lot of time to do much of anything, Santana laid out both lunches she'd prepared, as well as a small opaque container that she placed off to the side. Rachel watched on curiously, and looked at the lunch Santana offered with suspicion.

"It's just a kale salad…you know, with avocado, cucumber, red pepper, radish, celery, pomegranate, that sort of stuff. I didn't have much time, so it's not fancy, but it's vegan." She explained, and after another suspicious glance at the container, Rachel took it and a fork from Santana's hands, offering her a small smile yet again. That time, though, it lasted. Which was kind of awesome.

They ate in silence, though Rachel was clearly hungry as she finished her salad quickly, her eyes looking questioningly at the other container Santana had laid out. "What's in there?" Berry asked quietly, her lips forming into this tiny, curious pout. Santana had always noticed that Rachel's facial expressions tended to be really animated, but it was the first time she'd ever really instinctively thought of the girl as cute. And she wasn't entirely sure that it felt at all unfitting, or that it was wrong, because at that moment, with the diva clearly antsy over a potential surprise, she really did look cute.

"I made some cookies…ginger snaps. I think you made some for glee last March or something, so I figured you'd like them." Santana clarified, and Rachel seemed entirely taken aback for a moment, before a wide, baffled smile spread across her face.

"You did all this for me?" Rachel asked, sounding uncertain, though hope was glimmering in the girl's soft, brown eyes. Honestly, Santana wished she had a temporary third arm strictly for the purpose of patting herself on the back, because she'd salvaged the lunch break, and done a damn fine job.

She popped open the cookie container and lifted up a ginger snap, proud of her baking efforts. "You said that if I filled my pretty head with knowledge…" she started, slowly sliding toward Rachel, only leaving a few inches between them. "And if I was a good girl…" she continued, bringing the cookie up within a millimeter of the girl's lips, her other hand taking to gently stroking up and down the diva's left thigh. "That I might be rewarded." She finished, moving to a kneeling position between Rachel's legs, the girl spreading them slightly to allow her room. Not for a moment did Santana lose eye contact with the girl, relishing when Rachel leaned forward and took a bite; the diva clearly savoured the taste, chewing slowly and letting out a contented moan.

Santana intently watched Rachel finish off the cookie, bite by agonizing bite. She was certain that Rachel hadn't heard the bell ring, but she supposed the brunette likely was used to ignoring it, seeing as she had her free period after lunch. Santana honestly didn't care about attending Spanish, anyway. It was a waste of her time, and she had much more important matters to attend to.

"Come up here." Rachel stated softly, and Santana was up in an instant, her body on auto-pilot as she sat on the girl's lap, her legs supporting as much weight as she could comfortably bear in order to not make the diva uncomfortable. Santana watched Berry bring a hand up, much like she had earlier that morning, the girl's digits grazing her cheek with a tenderness she'd honestly never been shown before. Santana really hoped that she wasn't about to be let down gently. Rachel seemed the type to take that road when it came to rejection. "You've been…such a good girl, Santana." The diva breathed out, her brown eyes fluttering closed midway through the sentence.

And just like that, her worries were dashed, and Santana felt like she was on top of the world. Winning was fucking amazing, and she'd been awesome all day. Fuck the haters, she knew that if Quinn saw her right there, she'd have accused her of going soft, but Santana knew the way things worked. Competitions and prizes for shit like trophies, medals, booze and everything were done with fierce determination and relentless willpower, all wrapped up in a no-holds-barred mentality. That was how to win material prizes, by getting the best things, the most things. But with people, it all came down to affection and attention, and Santana wasn't a pushover in that either. It was why she'd gotten breast implants, to boost the amount of time people paid attention to her, and to increase the kinds of attention paid to her.

Much like that, she took being a 'good girl' seriously, because she figured that being awesome would at least get her a sweet macking session. It'd been a common part of her and Britt's relationship a few months back, and she was very familiar with the way that game was played, and that those sorts of situations were only victories if both had a freaking awesome time of it. It was the one thing she had that put herself ahead of Puck, in her mind. Puck knew how to have sex, but he didn't know how to lead into it, or how to care for anyone afterward, and even though she felt comfortable as hell saying she was a star between the sheets, her specialty in general was making people feel good. And at that moment, with Rachel's hair shiny and damp, the diva looking like some sort of tiny-yet-mature sex kitten, that was all she wanted to do. She just needed for Rachel to give her consent.

Santana wrapped her arms around Rachel's neck, letting one work a simple massage while the other slipped into the girl's luscious, damp hair. She let her smile slip into a shy one as a sober thought formed in her mind, knowing that she'd never be able to be as open and free with the girl as she'd been earlier without taking a certain step. After singing and dancing, Santana was well aware that Berry enjoyed a little bit of acting. "Have I made the grade, Miss Berry?" she asked, peering up at the diva through her eyelashes, trying her best to look shy an innocent, playing the hopeful 'good girl' role she'd halfway slipped into throughout the morning.

The blush that filled Rachel's cheeks was glorious, but not nearly as much as the excited flash of recognition in the girl's eyes. "You have been a rather impressive young lady, Miss Lopez." Rachel spoke, the strange, fresh maturity in her voice startling Santana a little. She'd known Berry could act, and that she had a wide vocal range for singing, but hadn't expected for the girl's voice to take on a different tone and shape. It was honestly really enticing, and only had her more worked up as she felt Rachel's hands caress the outside of her thighs. Fuck if Quinn wasn't a blind idiot, because those small, deft hands teased her flesh in all the right ways. Usually, she didn't really care for the cheer uniform, but in that moment, she was thankful for it. "But tell me…do you think you're deserving of reward over the others?"

Santana gulped at the intensity of Rachel's stare and easily slipped further into her role of the nervous girl, eager to please. "I…I hope I am, Miss Berry." She stammered out, lightly dragging her massaging hand down Rachel's arm, hesitantly interweaving her fingers with the diva's own. She squeezed, while Rachel's hand flinched slightly, an intriguingly astute reaction. "I've worked terribly hard in my studies, securing a 4.0 GPA in hopes you'd be proud of me." She continued, adding a shy smile as one of Rachel's hands lifted her chin and forced her gaze to return to Rachel's eyes, now appearing a tiny bit softer despite her expression being firm and pointed. "I think only of you between classes, doing my best to ensure your comfort and safety, Miss Berry. I'm so sorry for earlier, I was…I just…" she let her words trail off, getting further into the act. Role-play had been a secret love of hers, and while Britt had always been a willing companion, the girl's range was limited, as was her commitment to the role. In Rachel, she trusted that the diva would follow through and just take in the experience and what she wanted to convey. It wasn't as if all of Santana's role-playing had to be sexual, it's just that she couldn't always express herself normally like other people, and it was easier for her through a filter. It was a lot easier to apologize playing a character than being 'herself'; the persona she'd created for her school life would never be caught apologizing. She figured both were acting anyway, it wouldn't hurt or anything.

"Just what, sweetness?" Rachel asked with a bit of softness lingering in her tone; the sheer aching worry in the girl's voice was amazing, especially with how utterly veiled it was by a fake, vague expression of concern with a flash of regret after using the pet name. Had she not been perceptive, Santana likely would have just taken the tone as Berry being uninterested in her welfare, which wouldn't have set the right tone. It was sort of stunning that Rachel knew to be so reluctantly detached so quickly.

"I just wanted…I wanted to be y…your good girl." She answered in a pained whisper, willing her eyes to water for effect, her voice choking up slightly in response. "A…and I really t…tried. I didn't think th…they'd hurt you."

"Shhh…" Rachel forced out quietly, removing Santana's other hand from her hair and placing it in the cheerleader's lap, he diva's hands holding both of theirs in place. "Good girls know when to control themselves, Miss Lopez." Rachel stated, a flicker of a frown against her lips, the diva's eyebrows turning up ever so slightly from worry. Santana watched the other girl's emotions battling underneath a thin veneer of impassivity.

Santana let out a sob; it wasn't a rare occurrence, she cried all the time when she was drunk, but it was a lot harder to do sober unless she was really into something. Thankfully, Rachel was playing along admirably, coaxing her into reacting, into spiraling out. "I try so hard, Miss Berry…I want to be good for you…" she spoke quietly, her lower lip trembling. Santana paused for a moment to see how Rachel would react, if she'd want to stretch it out for a bit longer. Seeing that Rachel was enjoying it, she decided to keep it going. "But it's so hard." Santana added with a slow shake of her head, sounding entirely defeated as she lowered her gaze again, wishing she'd let her hair out of her pony so that it could curtain her face. But good girls are supposed to be neat, proper, and well kept, so she supposed it was fitting.

"Miss Lopez, good girls are polite enough to make eye contact when appropriate." Rachel chided her, so she stifled a sob, letting her body shake forward ever so slightly. She wasn't that emotional quite yet, and she wasn't certain she wanted to be or that it was necessary, but Santana knew she could fake it well if she needed to. And second by second, that need was reduced by entirely real emotions welling up to the surface, long hidden away. "Why is it so hard, sweetness?"

Santana lifted her gaze, sending Rachel a pained look that actually seemed to startle the diva, whose eyes went wide with concern, starting to brim with emotion. "Because good girls don't feel like I do. Good girls don't think like I do." She forced out, letting all the worry from earlier in the lunch room and the washroom out of her system. Santana knew it wasn't necessarily the healthiest outlet for her stress and pent-up emotion, but it worked, and it was always cathartic in the end. It was kind of nice to let out the last scraps of her gay panic into their act, too.

She felt Rachel's hands start to shake, loosening their grip on her own ever so slightly. She witnessed Rachel swallow back her emotions, letting her final set of walls up as she worked to compose herself. "And…what do you mean by that, Miss Lopez?"

Santana took advantage of Rachel's shaking hands and pried one free, waiting a comfortable second or two to see if Berry would stop her before she placed a hand on the diva's cheek. "Good girls aren't supposed to desire you, Miss Berry. I just…I simply can't help myself." Santana cried out quietly, letting herself feel what anguish she could muster as she bit back her tears. "Perhaps I'm too wretched." She choked out, collapsing forward in the diva's lap, both of her hands shooting up to cover her face as she wept. Sure, she knew it was a bit odd, but she knew Rachel had so rarely ever been someone that others felt the need to impress and be worthy of, and even if it was just role-play, she'd wanted that for the diva. She wanted Berry to feel wanted for once, hoping that the girl would understand that it was her offering of trust, of affection. That it was her hoping for some shred of forgiveness. An olive branch of sorts, but with a bunch more emotion, and touchy-feely stuff of course. The good stuff.

She waited as Rachel went from pulling her into a frantic hug, her hands uncertain; the brunette was hesitant initially, and promptly changed her mind, moving to put a little distance in between them. This just had Santana reacting with even more anguish. She freed up one hand to tremble against the diva's shoulder, trying for some sort of contact. "Sweetness…" she heard whispered soothingly, Rachel's hands forcing Santana to clear her face fully so they could meet each other's gaze. "You are not fit to be one of the good girls you seek to emulate." Rachel spoke with quiet confidence, her gaze absolutely intense with determination and fire. Despite Santana's thankfulness for Berry's large vocabulary, the words hurt. She didn't understand if Berry was twisting the game on her, and it hurt to think she wasn't understanding what Santana had been trying to build the whole time, what she was trying to say through it all. She was trying so hard. She tried so, so hard.

"Miss…" Santana started, but a small shake of the diva's head still her words in her throat, letting them decay over the following silent seconds.

"You, my sweetness, will never be one of the good girls because you're _my_ good girl. My precious, _wonderful_ girl." Rachel spoke so sweetly and reverently that Santana couldn't help but let herself just believe. Even though it was just a role-play, she'd never heard such words spoken to her, especially not with such conviction. Santana didn't care about the tears streaming down her face or the magnificently wide smile she was sporting, or how hard her heart was beating, as if it was so full it could explode. The only thing she could focus on was that Rachel was looking at her with such adoration that she couldn't help but lean forward and tenderly press their lips together, smiling into the kiss as the diva pulled her closer, her arms wrapped around Santana's body possessively. It was almost as wonderful a feeling as when Rachel kissed back.

Santana had entertained some stray thoughts on Rachel's kissing prowess, assuming that the girl's breath control, skilled tongue and nicely-sized soft lips would make for a pretty nice time, but she'd had no idea. The last bit of nerves within her shattered as Rachel responded fervently and passionately, Santana feeling overwhelmed as the pendulum swung, Berry absolutely dominating her through the kiss. She supposed it fit character, but when their lips had touched, it had been the absolute last thing on her mind. Still, she was happy to oblige and be ravished, so long as she was able to return the favour in other ways afterward.

Her hands teased their way down Rachel's back, clutching her ass hard as soon as she'd gotten them in position, earning a surprised squeak from the diva, who ludicrously just rolled her hips back into her hands. Santana seriously had no idea what else Rachel Berry had hid away about herself from society, honestly, but she was really, really happy to be learning.

So perhaps she wasn't as surprised as she would have otherwise been when Rachel swiftly stood from the chair, Santana's legs instinctively wrapping around the diva's waist in what must have looked kind of hilarious, given their heights, before Berry laid them both onto the floor, Santana's back making contact first. However, while she certainly enjoyed the position, Rachel had interrupted their lips going at it, and she was going to make sure that Berry wouldn't be earning any more air miles unless she had the girl flying high on an orgasm or something. It didn't seem likely, given Rachel was still a virgin, but she decided she wouldn't rule out the possibility until Rachel did. And so, she kept her legs where they were, locking the diva in place on top of her.

Rachel didn't seem to mind one bit, breathlessly crashing their lips together again, Berry's hands embedding themselves in her hair, undoing her ponytail and letting her hair splay out freely. It only made Santana feel more vulnerable, losing part of her uniform, of her power, especially when Rachel pulled back for air. She used the opportunity to graze her hands up and down the back of Rachel's thighs, coming dangerously close to what Puck often called the 'Red Zone'. Once again, their eyes met, and Santana had a really difficult holding back the first thing that came to her mind, so she let the second slip out. "You're incredible." She breathed out, panting hard as her lungs fought to gather oxygen for another round. She could taste the remnants of Rachel's cherry lip gloss on her own, and it only made her want to kiss the girl until their lips were raw. However, the diva stilled her wishes with a melodic, carefree laugh, the singer smiling widely as she looked adoringly at her once again. It was then that Santana just couldn't help herself. "Did you mean what you said?"

Her words slowed Rachel's laugh until the diva looked down on her with a soft smile curling at her lips. "Are we still role-playing?" Rachel asked quietly, before letting out a giggle. "I suppose I broke character there, anyway."

"It's alright, I broke too." She replied, hoping to reassure the girl from the fresh flash of uncertainty spreading across her face.

That only earned her a puzzled look from the diva. "You did? But…when?" Rachel asked, curious, and appearing more than a little concerned. "Your words…they all seemed proper."

"I broke through my actions, not my words, I guess. When you said I wouldn't be like the rest…it was too much." She whispered, turning her head to the side so she wouldn't have to look at the diva, who was probably just looking on with full-on confusion. "I tried so hard, Rachel."

After a brief moment, she felt the full weight of Rachel's body on top of her own again, the diva's head resting in the crook of her neck. "You have nothing to apologize for, Santana. I know that now. You're forgiven." Rachel answered, as if she was some weird mind-reader or something. Which, actually, wasn't all that weird, Santana supposed, seeing as she had her own psychic Mexican third eye. "And to answer your question, at the risk of sounding utterly foolish and maybe desperately and hopefully pathetic…yes, I did."

Santana let herself breathe in that very confusing moment, processing her thoughts. Honestly, she'd spoken her mind, asking Berry that question because she'd felt something in that moment, on the diva's lap. It wasn't like anything else she'd felt before, and she knew that either Berry was an amazing actress, or some of her reactions were sincere, so she'd let the question spill out. She'd needed clarification, because it had all been too confusing and new for her, and now that she had an answer, a confirmation, she wasn't sure how to feel.

Apparently, inexplicably, Rachel felt something for her. Deciding to put aside her history, and focus just on the day at hand, it made the morning's flirty embrace make a lot more sense. It made every glance, every touch, every playful remark make sense, especially with how the diva had seemed to get more confident as time passed, at least until the washroom encounter. And that made more sense, because if she'd spent the whole morning flirting back and forth with a girl that had a crush on her, only to be rejected in a painful way, it made sense to be upset. Hell, she'd have been upset if it had happened to her. Britt rejecting her without a slushie had been hard enough, so it made her empathize with Rachel over that much. And the role-play was done so exquisitely, Rachel guiding the right responses out of her, helping her let go and release her guilt, her sorrow, and so much else. Every moment of that exchange had been guided with the care of a girl who hadn't ever done that sort of thing with her before, yet knew perfectly well how to react in each instance. It was baffling. It was amazing, and she'd loved every second of it, despite how emotionally charged it had been. Perhaps because of it.

And then the kiss. Santana had kissed a great many people, but she'd never been kissed with such unrelenting passion. Where she had skill and technique, Berry had some weird emotional thing. She'd never felt so many slight mood shifts as she had with Rachel where every motion of her lips, every tilt of her head, every flick of her tongue all taught her exactly what the diva had been feeling at the moment. And it had been like experiencing the Sistine chapel in all its glory, having only ever witnessed the scrawling work of seven year olds before. It had been entirely new and ridiculous, and Santana only wanted more. Not just for her, but for Rachel too. Because as much as she wanted Berry's lips on her own, she wanted hers on Rachel; she wanted to explore the girl and truly understand the diva. Santana was a curious person, after all. And while her reward had been more than she had hoped for, it didn't hurt to set her sights on someone much more valuable than a reward or prize.

"And I might just sound like some sappy marshmallow or something but…look, this started as a bet that I wouldn't touch you, okay? But that all changed the moment you leaned back into me, alright? Because that made me curious, and I need to know things. It's how I am. So I flirted, and you flirted back, and that just got me kind of excited, because almost no one keeps up in flirting with me, and you really got me off balance, and I was really looking forward to lunch, not just because of the reward, but because you were suddenly really interesting. And when I saw you in the washroom breaking down because you thought…you thought I had made someone hurt you…I really wanted to keep flirting with you, but I needed to apologize more and you were so awesome. No one's ever made me feel like…that." She rambled, taking a deep breath, because apparently Berry's motor-mouth and paragraph-speech disease were contagious. "Especially when you looked at me like that and said those words, so that's why I asked you. Because I kind of really wouldn't mind being your girl and stuff, I think." She finished quietly, her words trailing off at the end as her nerves took over her mind once again, her hands wringing with each other anxiously. Santana had never been in that sort of situation before, and she didn't know how to react or even just be normal, so she fiddled with her hands and closed her eyes, trying to just think about what to do, but nothing was coming up. It was as if she'd had word vomit, and it threw out her ability to think.

"Santana…" she heard Rachel speak reverently, the diva's light hand turned her head by her chin, forcing her gaze open once more. She'd sort of expected Berry to pull away so that she wouldn't just see hair, but apparently that wasn't in the cards. After all she said, Santana kind of wanted to see the girl's eyes to gauge how she felt, but it was denied her. So she sulked a little. "I believe my exact words were that you are my good girl. My precious, wonderful girl." The diva continued, and Santana wasn't sure how Rachel could even think to describe her like that, but she really wanted to believe she could be that to someone. She'd tried with Britt, but it didn't end up working out. She hadn't been good enough, but Rachel was good. Rachel was also contagious in nearly everything she was, and maybe that was what Santana needed. Maybe she just needed someone to help bring herself out, because Rachel's words didn't just make her feel like a better person. They made her remember who she was underneath it all, something Santana often forgot while at school, as well as when Quinn and Britt couldn't make time for her.

And maybe that was a reason to not be nervous about Rachel Berry. Maybe the girl could help her win back the only prize she'd ever thrown away. Herself.

Santana wasn't quite sure what she could give in return that could possibly be of equal value, but she let Rachel worry about that. She'd just give her all until she figured out if it was a good idea or a bad idea, but she'd always been impulsive. And Rachel was making her feel twenty kinds of good, so she'd take the offer. She'd be awesome enough for them both.

And in a moment of peace surrounding it all, she realized she didn't need any bets or dares shackling her to that goal. And fuck, was that a freeing feeling.

"So Rachel, there's still twenty minutes left in your free period. You gonna ogle my lips the whole time, or are you gonna come and get up on this and get you some sugar?" she asked, her trademark smirk falling into place as she waited for her girl's response.

She didn't have to wait long. Rachel was nothing if not punctual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This kind of just exploded on me. To give you an idea of how much, I had up until "…Santana felt unnerved by it all, she was excited." outlined. The rest was just stream of consciousness the rest of the way, and I really, desperately hope I did it justice given my random foray into role-play. I really wanted for Santana to be in this position of semi-understanding the whole time, searching for answers, and battling what she both received, and what she knew from before. I just hope that the confusion that I wanted the character to feel didn't slip too far into the writing style to muddy things up too much. I needed her thoughts to be scrambled, to continue past thoughts paragraphs later in a different situation as she put the pieces together. I hope it worked for you all. I'm not sure I'm completely satisfied, but I don't have it in me to re-write such a long streaming work like this. Not now, with me out of the mindset that crafted all of this.


	23. Invisible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana has a run in with one of the girls she used to bully. Big deal, right? But when she wakes up invisible, she quickly realizes her life has changed forever. (Part 1 of 3 in unfinished series, AU, Santana POV, Santana/Rachel friendship)

Santana stood outside of McKinley's front doors, the warmth of the mid-afternoon sun on her face. She knew that in forty minutes, classes would be let out, and everyone would go about their days, doing their best to put as much distance between them and the school as needed. She'd see the Cheerios hit the field for another practice, perhaps, or the football team. It wasn't as if she didn't come to school every day anymore or anything, but those details just weren't as important anymore. It was hard to really care or pay close attention when it didn't involve her, and hadn't for months.

She had different priorities now, even if they were less enjoyable and rewarding. Not that what she had scheduled didn't make her day a little brighter, but she could never risk actually being present when her targets found what she'd left them. There were always too many people crowding the halls, and she'd resigned herself to her fate only a few weeks past. Santana didn't feel like shaking anything up.

A few months ago, that would have been something she would have looked forward to; the Santana of old enjoyed messing with people and turning people's worlds upside down, in her own ways. It was only once it was done to her that she realized the error of her ways.

It had been an hour or so after school, at the supermarket, when she'd accidentally bumped into a slightly older girl. It had taken a few moments to recognize her; Santana had been a sophomore when the other girl had been a senior, but despite the age difference, she and the other cheerios had made her life hell. Santana had given her the standard HBIC glare, quipped out the girl's old nickname alongside a threat, and walked down the aisle to procure some ingredients for the pasta she was planning to make that night. She hadn't expected anything past that, but the girl had pricked her neck with something sharp, and spoke some weird ass words, before charging off.

Santana hadn't thought much of it, and knew Britt was waiting, so she couldn't afford to go all Lima Heights Adjacent on the girl. Even though the girl had drawn blood, Santana had eventually let the weird incident escape her thoughts. At least, until she woke the next morning, passed out on Britt's bed.

Her memory was hazy of the hours after discovering her ailment; heck, she could barely remember the first week since she discovered she was invisible. Santana recalled the note left on her windowsill well enough, about how it was her punishment for being so image-obsessed and focused on popularity. How the girl she'd happened on in the market thought Santana deserved to feel what it was like to truly have people look through her, to be truly invisible.

If it hadn't been so blatantly clear that she wasn't living in some fucked up dream-world, she would have denied it as some weird nightmare, but days passed into weeks, and months. Missing persons reports were sent out, her parents fought and comforted each other over her sudden absence. Had she not been too busy grieving the loss of her life as she knew it, and feeling the horrendous weight of karma on her shoulders, she might have tried to do something. Instead she'd just watched as everyone she'd cared about fell apart.

Britt was so lost in the weeks after her disappearance. She and the blonde had been linked at the hip since first grade, and Brittany didn't really seem to know how to function without her best friend around to help her. Santana knew she'd been the shield protecting Brittany, guiding her on a better path to keep her confident, happy and focused on her dancing. Eventually, Santana had decided that even though she'd lost her life, she wouldn't allow her own sins to fail Brittany as well.

It had started as a small gesture, tiny sticky notes left in the blonde's locker. Some were reminders of what she needed to do, where she needed to be, how to get to her classes. Others were simply, encouraging messages, because she knew that Britt's self esteem was fragile when she wasn't riding a high from winning a championship or snagging a lead on some dance performance. She'd kept those up for a week before she noticed two peculiar things.

Santana had been curious to see Quinn leave school early one day; her other blonde friend had been having a really hard senior year, and she knew the girl was struggling mightily with the whole Beth issue, now that Shelby was hanging around Lima all the time. Deciding to use her curse to its potential, she'd followed her former friend home, and had witnessed something of a breakdown in Quinn's room that evening. Sure, Santana had always thought Quinn had difficulty realizing that she could be free of the life her mother lived, but she'd never known that the girl had felt so hopeless. It was then that she decided to help her former Captain regain her confidence. She just wasn't quite sure how, at the time.

On her way back home, after sneaking out pretty damn well if she said so herself, she decided to stop off in the park she and Britt used to frequent. It had always helped her think, and she needed ideas on how to get her other blonde back on track. Yet, when she approached the pond, she spotted a strange, small collection of things by her and Britt's tree.

Santana had made her way up to the display curiously, not really expecting people to leave a bunch of junk around such a kickass tree. But when she got close enough, each step got a little harder to take. Waiting for her was a big white sign with a picture of her and Britt plastered on it, her name lining the top in the familiar glittery silver gel pen that her BFF loved so much. Scattered around it were some candles that had clearly seen better days, and an old bouquet of flowers. White lilacs and daisies, two of her favourite flowers; it was a nice touch, and she couldn't expect anyone to leave sunflowers in that time of year, anyway.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been standing there, just taking the memorial in, when she'd been startled out of her stupor by approaching footsteps. Santana looked around herself, seeing that she was definitely clear of the path and out of anyone's way, but when the approaching person got close enough she stepped aside anyway. She caught a glimpse of brown hair out of the corner of her eye, and turned her head to see someone she truly hadn't expected.

Rachel Berry, of all people slowly stepped up to the memorial, kneeling at the sign to replace the old bouquet with a fresh one of the same collection. Santana stood there, knowing that at the time, it had been a little over ten weeks since she'd gone missing, but by the tiny diva's expression and fresh tear tracks, it was almost as if it was a recent development. Honestly, Santana couldn't help but have been taken aback at the sight; her parents had lost hope and were entirely listless. Britt was recovering and, with her own prodding, latching onto Sam for the sort of support Santana knew her best friend needed. Quinn seemed to be struggling, but she knew she'd help on that front, and eventually her captain would be fine. No one else seemed to really care too much anymore about her having disappeared, but there was Rachel Berry, trying to compose herself in an empty park, in front of her memorial.

"May it be Your will, Lord, My God and God of my ancestors, to lead Santana, to direct her steps, and to support her in peace. Lead her in life, tranquil and serene, until she arrives at where she is going. Deliver her from every enemy, ambush and hurt that she might encounter on the way and from all afflictions that visit and trouble the world. Bless the work of her hands. Let her receive divine grace and those loving acts of kindness and mercy in Your eyes and in the eyes of all those she encounters. Listen to the voice of my appeal, for you are a God who responds to prayerful supplication. Praised are you, Lord, who responds to prayer." Rachel spoke calmly, staring intently at the picture on the board as she prayed openly.

It had been strange to hear the girl pray; Santana had been raised Catholic, so hearing a Jewish girl, one who she'd spent a lot of time tormenting, pray for her through another faith was a little touching. And maybe the whole invisibility shit had made her soft or whatever, but she might have cried, but there was no proof. She'd been dead to the world for weeks, but Berry apparently still had hope, and that stirred something inside of her. The tiny girl had always been such an optimist, always clutching tight to her dreams, never losing sight of whom and what she wanted in her life.

Santana stood silently as Rachel reluctantly departed off into the night. She knew now how to help Quinn, and that the tiny diva had done enough to earn her support, even if it wasn't needed. Santana thought back to her childhood, remembering how much Quinn used to write, and how much the blonde had enjoyed all the games where they'd play pretend. It might have been a long-shot, but she knew that Quinn had the intellect and skill to have a first class ticket out of Lima if she wanted, and she'd make sure that happened, just like she'd make sure Britt would get off to a dance academy, and Rachel would get off to New York. Because even if she couldn't have her own life, even if she couldn't have her own dreams back, she'd make sure at least some would come true.

And so there she stood, outside McKinley, notes tucked away under her cheerleader uniform for concealment. It had been her first discovery, that her uniform had been so synonymous with how the other girl had seen her that she'd been cursed with wearing it. Sure, she could remove it if she wanted, but it was always tricky as fuck to find and put back on, because it was invisible too. Sometimes she wished she was a damn ghost, because winter had been cold as shit. For the past few weeks, she'd been leaving messages to everyone, including ivy league admission packages for Quinn, and sheet music for Berry. Sure, the packages were always tricky to get a hold of, and the sheet music was always stolen, but it was the best she could do, given the circumstances. Being a bitch had gotten her cursed, and she was smart enough to know that making a positive difference couldn't hurt, and that it was healthier than falling back into self-pity.

Santana entered the building, strolling the halls quietly as she made her way to her destinations. For the most part, it was a normal day, at least where her Britt and Quinn notes were concerned. Rachel, though, had worried her the previous night at the memorial. Every Wednesday, the diva would make her way to the pond, where the memorial was, and Santana would always ensure that she kept the girl company. Most times, Rachel would only pray, exchange the flowers, then leave, but the tiny diva had taken time to vent about how lost she was feeling, leading up to graduation, and how uncertain her future was going forward. It had taken her a few days to wrangle it out, but she'd decided to plant a special copy of the "Don't Stop Believin'" sheet music in Berry's locker, complete with a small note with the simple message 'Eyes on the prize, you can do this'. Santana had never been the best with words, so she just hoped it was adequate, as she unlocked the diva's locker and slipped her package in, quickly shutting it afterward. She knew it was silly to feel paranoid about someone seeing her; the feeling still happened on instinct, and it always sucked to realize no one would, not for the rest of her life.

But it didn't mean she couldn't be seen through her actions and support. She wouldn't let go of the last thing she had a grip on in the world around her.

* * *

It was strange, getting her friends to graduation with their dreams intact hadn't been a huge challenge at all. Britt was nearly back to her old self with the support of Sam, Quinn and the rest of glee, and she'd made it into one of the top schools in California for her craft. Quinn, after some initial notes that were equally pestering and reassuring, managed to get her life back on track, pushed past her yearning for Beth, and got into Yale. Santana had honestly never been as proud of the blonde as she'd been the day that Quinn sent in her applications; it was an absolutely incredible feeling, knowing her captain was on her way up, chasing her acting dreams again.

Rachel's year had been full of turmoil and drama as usual; the diva had endured a marriage proposal from Finn, a suspension from trying to rig the election, and a failed first try at her NYADA audition. Santana had wished she could have prevented the election mishap, but she felt that she'd handled the other two well enough. It had been surprisingly easy to get Rachel to let go of Finn, after she'd manipulated the oaf into a situation where he had been bound to fail. Santana had never felt that the boy was healthy for Rachel, and was just happy that the diva had managed to see that in the end. And Tina had been tremendously easy to get on Rachel's side, and to get her to drive Berry to the NYADA prof's workshop. Sure, while that hadn't worked, it'd given the diva some confidence at least; her sticky note to Finn, warning him of a potentially brutal death if he so much as moved his lips within a foot of Rachel during their nationals performance, had also been acknowledged. Things had gone well, all in all. All three girls were happy and on their way toward their futures.

But when graduation finished, and everyone went their separate ways, Santana had come face to face with a decision. She'd had to decide which of the girls, if any, she'd follow, seeing as they were all going separate ways. They were her life's work, her purpose, and she wasn't ready to give that up quite yet. She still thought she'd been able to help.

For a few days, she'd locked herself away, hidden in her parents' basement, trying to figure out her next step. It was only when she learned that Britt and Quinn were moving into dorms, and Rachel would be living alone, that her decision was made for her.

It had taken some work, but Santana had managed to get her hands on a prepaid credit card, which she used to buy herself two adjacent seats in the least busy train to New York. There had been a few close calls en route, when one jerk decided to sit on one of the two seats she'd reserved. Sure, she was invisible, but she'd bought those seats, and she was thankful when the attendant sent the man back to his original seat.

Santana was nothing if not perceptive and detail oriented, so it had been easy to follow Berry and her family around town to their destinations, keeping a record of which places they were looking into. She was incredibly thankful that she'd had Rachel pegged, and that the diva refused to use anything but the subway to get to their destinations, claiming she needed to understand inner-city transportation, and that it would be a better learning experience than taking cabs. Eventually, the diva had stopped by and fell in love with an apartment up in Bushwick that looked more like a hangar, given how it was one giant room with a few support posts in place. After Rachel's parents had signed the paperwork, Santana found a nice corner to take shelter in. The door didn't have a lock that she was familiar with, and she couldn't take the chance that she'd be able to slip in a week and a half later when Rachel fully moved in, so she figured that saying put was the safer bet.

It had at least let her get a handle on the surrounding area and how to pick the door's lock, by the time Rachel had moved in. She'd also done her best to tidy up, cleaning the windows, floors and walls out of boredom across a dull two day stretch.

It was then that Santana realized that she was in quite a predicament. Rachel was moved in, about to attend school, and Santana had no freaking clue how to help. Notes wouldn't work anymore, that was certain, unless she wanted the diva to think she had a creepy stalker. Not that she didn't think what she was doing wasn't a little creepy, but having someone around made Santana feel a little more human, a little more real, and sometimes she could pretend that both she and Rachel were just having a quiet study session in the living room. That the diva could, if she wanted to, look up and see her, and perhaps try to rope her into watching Funny Girl.

And yeah, sometimes, when the diva would fall asleep on the couch, she'd drape a blanket over her to keep her warm, and sometimes she'd do some minimal kitchen and living room cleaning; enough to make the place nicer, without arousing suspicion. All she'd been able to do were little things during her stay, and it hadn't seemed like enough, especially when the school year started.

Still, she endured, and did her best to leave things around the house to inspire Rachel, or to motivate her. But her willpower broke one Friday evening when the door slid open and Rachel staggered in, tears streaking down her face, small whimpers escaping her lips as she limped toward the living room and collapsed onto the couch. Over the two weeks Berry had spent at NYADA, Santana had noticed that some days, the diva would get home nursing injuries, limping, and generally upset, and as the days passed, it had only gotten worse. All that Santana knew was that Rachel's dance teacher was a colossal bitch, from what she'd seen the two times that she'd been able to sneak her way into the class. The woman was like high school Quinn and Santana combined, but with a bigger ego and an apparent actual hatred for the brunette.

As she watched the girl curl up on the couch, shaking with sobs, Santana wasn't sure whether she should stalk and flay Cassie July alive, or if she should do something to comfort Rachel. She HATED feeling useless, especially given her situation, and she knew that Rachel needed someone at the moment. The girl hadn't been making friends at NYADA, and often just spent her time by herself, practicing, but Santana was often graced with a number of private moments. She often tried her best to give the girl privacy, given the fact that she was technically invading Berry's home on a regular basis in secret, but sometimes she caught the girl staring at her phone, as if she were just waiting for someone to call her. Santana knew Kurt was in the city, but the boy hadn't made much effort to reach out to Rachel. And it wasn't right for Berry to be chasing her dreams, yet still being lonelier than ever. It just wasn't right.

So when Rachel slipped into slumber, Santana took action, covering the girl in her coziest blanket before she went about cooking the girl some food. Cooking had, in Santana's experience, been an annoying chore before her curse; afterward, it had been tremendously difficult, mostly because it usually required dexterity, and she had a difficult time with that, into being able to see her hands. Knives were especially troublesome.

Still, she managed to rework one of her favourite linguini recipes, making it vegan for the aching girl to eat. Santana knew the girl should probably be awake, and having a bath or something, but she figured Rachel would want food seeing as she'd forgotten her lunch that morning. She knew the diva worked hard, and just wanted to do what she could to make things easier on her. Keeping an eye on the three girls she'd watched over had given her a better idea of how each of them were when they weren't keeping their thoughts and emotions in check, and Rachel had been illuminating. Alone, the girl was usually calm, peaceful, and even though she followed her schedules and routines to a tee, she was much more relaxed. The tiny diva sometimes just decided to dance in the kitchen, no music playing but whatever was going on in Rachel's head. It was nice seeing her so free, and she could see NYADA was crippling that part of her day by day, and it had only been two weeks.

After readying dinner, she prepped the living room table before putting a plate down on the placemat. Quickly, she went about getting other items, like an extra pillow, a bottle of bubble-bath, and some massage oil, placing them on the end of the table as she noticed Rachel stirring, the girl sniffing audibly, her brows furrowed in confusion.

Santana grabbed her usual pen and sticky-notes from her uniform and quickly penned a note, placing it beside the plate before the girl fully woke. The message was a simple 'Please don't freak out', but it didn't seem to help at all. The diva was clearly mystified and freaked out by the full plate of food a foot away, and when she looked over to read the note, Rachel had actually recoiled fully, pressing herself back into the couch in a panic. It was exactly the dramatic reaction she'd expected, even if she'd hoped for something different.

She rolled her eyes and decided to write another note, this time ensuring that Rachel was able to see it being written. 'I'm going to speak now.' She wrote simply, because her notes didn't give her a heck of a lot of room, and her writing had to be big enough for Berry to read. Quickly, she tore off a new note, deciding to add a request. 'Please don't faint on anything but the couch.'

She watched Rachel, eyes wide with confusion and fear, nod hesitantly as she stared at the small series of notes, her lower lip trembling. Santana usually spent at least an hour a day just talking out loud in the apartment; she hadn't ever really wanted to lose her voice. Like her efforts in helping her McKinley alums, it helped her remember that she was real, that she was still living, and that she was still able to do something about her invisibility if she'd wanted to. She just hadn't expected to be communicating with anyone so quickly.

"Hey, Berry." She spoke, the sentence feeling weirdly normal, casual even, as it slipped from her lips.

She watched Rachel's face pale, her bug-eyed stare unrelenting as the girl sat still for quite a while. Eventually, though, Berry's expression shifted slowly to confusion, and then to hope, the girl's gaze darting around the room, looking for the source.

"Santana?" Rachel squeaked out, the diva's body reacting to the situation with full dramatics, her big brown eyes brimming with tears. "Can…can you speak again? Are you a ghost?"

Santana laughed at the last question, having accurately predicted the girl would have asked it. "Nah, just cursed." She stated, trying to sound as upbeat about her situation as she could; Rachel had endured a rough enough day, she wanted the focus to be more on Rachel. It just meant that she needed to take the spotlight for a moment, was all.

Rachel seemed to ponder that for a few moments, tapping her index finger against her chin, her expression like a miniature, comical version of the 'thinking man'. "Is there a difference?" the diva asked, which Santana supposed was fair enough.

"I'm invisible, not incorporeal. People can still walk into me, I can still grab things and everything." Santana stated offhandedly, earning a confusing huff from Rachel.

"Prove it." The girl challenged her, which was more than a little ridiculous, seeing as evidence was all around her.

"Rachel…I cooked you dinner, I wrote notes, I covered you with that blanket when you fell asleep. That not proof enough, short stack?" she asked, earning yet another huff, though that was was more out of annoyance than anything. Deciding to play with the slightly petulant diva, she made her way over to her prized Barbra Streisand framed and autographed photo on the shelf nearby, taking it from its safe resting place.

Immediately, Rachel bolted off the couch and into action. "Please, Santana, put it back and don't harm Barbra!"

She laughed and placed it back exactly where it had been, and turned to the diva, who wasn't looking directly at her, but certainly close enough. Slowly, Rachel returned to the couch, and Santana joined her, taking the far opposite side, Rachel looking on curiously as she noticed the imprint from where she was sitting, the cushion bending beneath her. "Where did you go?"

Again, another fair question that Santana supposed was worth answering. "I woke up one day and…I guess I panicked, because I don't really remember the first week well. And then I started pitying myself and grieving the fact that I'd just lost my life, for all I knew. By the time I had my head on straight, I'd been invisible for too long, and almost everyone was moving on. I…I started leaving notes for Britt, but then I realized Quinn could use some support, too. And then…I saw my memorial. And I heard you pray for me, and I just…it was like nothing else mattered, you know? Because I was gone…but you, Q and Britt weren't, so I tried helping, in secret."

Rachel's eyes grew wide once more as a small gasp escaped her. "You were my anonymous note donor?" she asked softly, Santana unable to refrain from laughter at the ridiculous title.

"Yeah. I…you have dreams, and I know you were having a hard time, so I tried my best to make you see what I saw, what anyone with eyes could see, what anyone with ears could hear. Your future was here." Santana added sheepishly, glad that Rachel couldn't see her because while she totally wasn't blushing, Berry might not have realized that, and there at least wasn't proof that she was blushing. Because she wasn't. Obviously.

Berry smiled in her direction, giving her this weirdly adoring look, before her expression relaxed, and the girl darted off the couch and into the kitchen. "Hey! Don't over-exert yourself, you're hurt." She called out, not at all happy with the prospect of Rachel hurting herself in her excitement for whatever she was doing.

It was only seconds later that Rachel returned with a moderately sized green jar that Santana didn't recognize. One moment, she was staring confusedly at the excited diva, and the next, Rachel was tossing goddamned flour at her, which just so happened to get in her eyes, nose and mouth, as well as all over her face and hair and upper body. She coughed and sneezed the dusty substance out of her mouth and nostrils, finding it kind of weird to see part of her body again when she looked down and saw flour resting on her chest. Above that, though, she was kind of really pissed off. "What the fucking shit, Rachel?! You trying to blind me or something?! Fuck!" she yelled, scrubbing at her eyes to no avail, the baking ingredient making her eyes feel like they were burning.

"Oh dear, I'm so, so sorry! It seemed like such a good idea at the time, and I'm becoming very aware of how erroneous my assessment was…I should have given you a warning! Please, forgive me!" Rachel pleaded, moving closer to her, resting a hesitant hand on her bicep. It felt weird being touched; it had been so long since anyone had made contact with her, and it felt goddamn magical. And just like that, the fury inside of her was doused, despite her eyes feeling as if they were on fire.

"Just…ask next time, okay? It's almost been a year since the curse began, and that's a year of no one being able to see me, a year of no one touching me, and it's fucking weird, okay?" she stated, hoping Berry would understand that she just wasn't used to this, that their communication was as new to her as it was to Rachel.

"How…how long have you been here?" Rachel asked, giving her arm a light squeeze, her eyes intently on her hand, knowing it was touching something, but not being able to see it.

Santana shrugged and guided Rachel back down onto the couch, beside her. "Since you signed the papers for it."

"But I haven't noticed any food missing." Rachel noted thoughtfully, clearing thinking back across the past week for instances of missing food.

"I eat out, mostly." Santana answered, which, by Rachel's expression, had rendered the girl aghast.

"Santana Lopez! Have you been stealing?!" the diva cried out, one hand clutching her own chest in shock, Rachel clearly appalled by her efforts at survival.

Santana allowed herself an eye roll, knowing full well Berry couldn't hassle her about it. "Don't really have any other way to get food, Berry."

Rachel didn't seem all that happy with the answer, but something happened in the girl's mind to make her blush furiously, which Santana was all too curious about. "Are…are…well, um…see…are you naked?" the diva asked shyly, looking as if her face was about to burst from all the blood flushing to her cheeks.

"I initially woke wearing my cheerios uniform, which is invisible too…I guess the bitch who cursed me didn't think there was a difference between me and the uniform…though I guess she was kind of right, in a way." Santana answered, drawing an immediate rebuking glare from the pint-sized diva.

"You're certainly more than the Cheerio uniform, Santana, don't ever speak like that about yourself again. Over the time we spent in glee, I learned enough about you to know that you were a good person, just hidden away behind the status." Rachel insisted with her index finger poking Santana's chest dramatically. "And on top of that, with winter coming up, you'll be cold, so I'll make sure you have something warm."

Santana nodded absently; the past winter had been terrible, and she hadn't expected one in New York to be any better. "Just gimme some extra blankets and I'll be fine. So long as I have that, I'm good, it just means I go outside less in the winter, is all."

"Yes…yes, you'll stay here, and you can stay warm and keep me company. And I want you to find something to work on too, for experience when the curse lifts." Rachel stated, clearly in her thinking and planning mode.

The thought of the curse ending put Santana on edge; not because she didn't want it to happen, but because she didn't think it ever would. The girl had used the word forever in her mini spiel, which seemed pretty blatant and specific when it came to the duration of it all. "I'm not…I don't think that's going to happen, Rachel."

"It will." Rachel said firmly, her eyes and voice brooking no argument. Santana let that go for the moment, deciding that the diva would eventually come to the same conclusion that she had. It wasn't as if she hadn't made peace with her new path in life. She didn't see anything wrong with helping her friends succeed in life and be happy.

"Well…I kinda liked working on my computer and, um…making music, producing, that sort of thing." She added, hoping that it would return the conversation to a better, easier subject.

Rachel clapped her hands animatedly, clearly excited. "It's settled, then! You work on that, and I'll take care of food so that you no longer have to be a deviant, and then I'll…" Rachel started, hopping off the couch, turning back toward the kitchen.

She was quick to grab the diva by the waist and gently bring her back to the couch. Rachel wasn't in the state of mind to put up a fight, it seemed; the brunette just looked curiously at her waist as she was planted back on the couch cushion she'd been sitting on. "I'm here to help YOU, Rachel, so let me help. You've had a hard day, so just rest, and decide if you want to sleep, have a bath, or have a massage, or something else."

Rachel cocked her head to the side momentarily, nodding dumbly as Santana picked up the dinner dishes and cutlery, quickly bringing them into the kitchen to be washed. "What do you want to help me with?" the diva called out from the living room.

Santana moved over to the entrance to the living room, peeking her head around the corner. Even though Rachel couldn't see her, it just felt natural. "Your dreams, I guess." She answered as happily as she could manage. "I lost my own, so I'll make sure yours come true. And you seemed like you could use a friend, too."

"You don't need to, Santana. You can still have dreams of your own." Rachel said quietly, her gaze darting over to where she was, her eyes clearly seeking out the remnants of the flour to discern where to look.

"Maybe some day down the line, but I've got a lot of life left. My dreams…they might not need for me to be visible in life, but yours do, and I'm not gonna take my time for granted. I'm happy helping. I want to see you on Broadway." She clarified, hoping to put the diva at ease.

Rachel's face-splitting smile was a wonderful sight, even if there was a note of sadness there in the girl's soft, chestnut eyes. Santana knew she'd have to fix that, she'd have to convince Rachel that she was okay taking a backseat, that she knew her limits better than Rachel did.

Because she'd spent months with her body invisible, but she knew what she was capable of, and she had someone to share that with now. Someone who she used to treat like the girl who had cursed her. Perhaps that had been the point of it all.


	24. Prank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana’s thrilled about spending Halloween with Rachel, freaking kids and their parents out. (Part 2 of 3 in unfinished series, AU, Rachel/Santana friendship)

Halloween had long been one of Santana's favourite holidays. She had always loved dressing up, and having one day where she could go crazy was all that young Santana Lopez could have asked for. It was almost like a second birthday, given the ability to wear any costume and all the candy she'd rake in.

The previous year's Halloween was the first she'd ever missed, spending it moping as a living invisible woman. Honestly, she planned on making this one a great one, to make up for the mishap last year. Sadly, it seemed that Halloween was one of the few things that Rachel Berry was insistent on being a party pooper. Seriously, nearly all of her ideas had been nixed by the diva, because apparently they were too scary or dangerous. Whatever.

So there she was on all hallow's eve, sitting beside Rachel, who was totally done up as Elphaba; any kids who happened to knock on their door got something of a trick and a treat, though Santana wasn't too pleased that she was the one doing all the work. _Seriously, Berry just sits on her chair while I dramatically lift candies out of her pumpkin bowl and toss them at the kids when she makes her hand gestures. How lazy is she? The least she could have done was let me do something riskier if she had to sit there and be a jerk...seriously..._

Either way, despite the bit of a lame first attempt at using her invisibility for the powers of good, she'd been having a decent night. The kids loved their little trick, the parents were baffled by it, and she was just happy to feel included and needed for something. They had been just over two hours into their routine when Rachel's phone rang.

She watched the diva scamper over to the kitchen table where they'd left it, out of the view of children, so it wouldn't break the illusion of course. Not that Santana felt the apartment was incredibly witch-like, but it was suitable. Reasonable.

"Rachel Berry speaking, may I ask who's calling?" Her friend spoke, putting the phone to her ear as Santana sat back and watched in silence, Rachel's eyes widening slowly with each passing second. For a moment, she thought it was some creepy prankster, but the slow smile on the diva's face eventually let her know that it was a good phone call. "Yes, Kurt, I just...I have a friend over right now, and she's not really up for that sort of scene." Rachel continued after a few seconds, her voice trailing off hesitantly.

Now, Santana was a lot of things, but she wasn't an idiot. Kurt hadn't talked to Rachel since she'd moved into the apartment, so whatever he was inviting her to was probably some sort of fancy party at his Vogue fortress or whatever. Which, obviously, was something big and important that Rachel needed to attend.

"Rachel, you're not turning down a chance at socializing with fucking elites just to spend time with me. Go shine your star, or whatever... just not in that costume, probably." Santana whispered harshly to the diva, who looked on in concern silently. Santana hoped that Rachel was listening to Porcelain speak, and wasn't contemplating anything, because it was a done deal. Rachel would leave and go to her first big girl party.

"Okay, Kurt...yeah, she understands, I can come. Okay...okay...thank you for the invitation, I'll be sure to arrive within the hour. Bye!" Rachel spoke into the phone, and Santana couldn't help but grin; it was Rachel's first big event, and she was excited for the diva. As soon as the girl hung up, she was immediately flashed with a sad frown. One that honestly shouldn't have been given, considering the circumstances. "I feel really bad for ditching you, San."

"Hey, it's cool. I want you to learn the ropes out there, figure out how to socialize and shit. You need to take this opportunity...just hassle the hell out of Kurt for taking this long to call you. Seriously, that boy..." Santana started, but a wave of Rachel's hand and raised eyebrows cut her off.

"I'll take care of Kurt...I know you've been frustrated about him lately, and rightfully so. I'll pass on your grievances." Rachel stated confidently, which put Santana at ease; she just wanted people to respect the girl, and considering how Berry was always the glue that held glee together, it just didn't feel right that she was so alone in New York with Kurt so close by. Even Quinn had been around twice to visit, and she lived over an hour and a half away.

It didn't take long to clean Rachel up for the party; it was formal, no costumes, so Santana had helped clean the makeup off while the diva styled her own hair and applied a decent smoky eye that Santana had taught her. They worked quickly, and before she knew it, Rachel had stepped out the door.

It was a little sad. Santana had been looking forward to a big Halloween night, but her plans had been limited by her accomplice, and her accomplice had soon left the building at quarter past eight. It wasn't as if being alone was some foreign thing to her, but she hadn't planned on being alone on Halloween. That was supposed to have been their lone evening together over a two week span, what with Rachel's increasingly hectic schedule going nuts with the addition of two off-Broadway auditions and some mid-term performances to prep for.

So she went and put a sign on the door claiming they were out of candy, she cleaned up the decorations, and she turned out the lights in preparation for a quiet night. It was weird, but she felt a little more at home in the dark; like, if someone were in the same room with her, they could maybe hold a short conversation, and the other person wouldn't expect to be able to see her. It would just be too dark to, so her invisibility wouldn't be such a handicap. Sure, it wasn't the best reason for being comfortable in the dark, but at least she wasn't some broody, super angsty teenager who felt at home in it because darkness was a metaphor for how dark her soul was or whatever.

Because really, she was doing alright. The past few weeks had been more than Santana could have hoped for, and it was amazing to have a friend again. A real friend that she could have conversations with, and watch movies and television with, or whatever. Having that human contact back in her life was just an incredible feeling, and while it was great, she couldn't help but feel a little fucked up about it. Because she got used to being lonely at first, but now that she had someone, the reality of her situation just kept biting at her ass, making her feel smaller and even more invisible.

The fact was that Rachel would be invited to a lot of places in the future, and she wouldn't be able to safely go with her. Rachel's freedom was a constant reminder of what she'd never have again, and while she'd kind of somewhat come to terms with that, and was trying to help the diva and make the best of the situation, it was a really, really tough pill to swallow. It was sad. Maybe, like 'a few self-pitying tears' kind of sad, in theory. Definitely not something she knew from first hand fucking experience or whatever.

It didn't take long to clean everything up, and Santana wasn't really in the mood for fun anymore, so she just sat back on the recliner, tossed on her e-reader, and got to work on the music theory tome she'd been tackling lately. It helped her toward her somewhat limited career aspirations, and it was an engaging read. So engaging that it barely felt like an hour had passed when Rachel returned to the apartment with a man in tow, from what she could tell by his voice.

Curious, she watched the two filter into the apartment, Rachel looking a little tipsy while the guy seemed pretty sober. Outside of Quinn and one of the diva's dance partners for some assignment, it was Rachel's first guest, and certainly her first impromptu social visit. Santana was kind of excited about it, if she were to be honest, because the diva had clearly done something right to get attention. Besides, she knew that Rachel got lonely, and that her company wasn't exactly ideal or anything, given the circumstances. She figured it'd be good for Berry to make new friends.

Deciding to let the diva handle it, she returned to her tome as the two sat in the kitchen making idle chit-chat over a late, small dinner. However, when Rachel announced it was vegan, Santana spotted the guy cringe a bit once the diva's back was turned. She smirked, understanding the reaction; she loved her meat, but she'd already imposed on Rachel enough, and had taken the vegan plunge merely out of convenience and respect. The man had no such commitment, so she didn't envy him at all for dipping a toe into those untasty waters.

The pair's banter occasionally filtered into her ears over the next hour or so, but she pushed most of it out of her mind, at least until one fairly patronizing remark brought her attention to the kitchen table. "You're a freshman, doll, when you get to where we seniors are, you'll understand how it works. I'm sure you'll do your best, but you'll still probably fail." The man noted, and Santana went from zero to a hundred on her 'seething mad' scale, because no one talked down to her Berry awesome friend, especially if they were being so patronizing and reeked of condescension.

"I'd like to think that talent doesn't necessarily cap by age or education level. I'm a better singer than some seniors, certainly, and my acting and dancing abilities are improving quickly..." Rachel started rambling and making sense, but went silent when the man shushed her. Seriously, Santana almost gasped at the gall he had to freaking shush Rachel Berry. She couldn't believe that he'd been clearly mean to Rachel, and the diva hadn't even seemed to notice. Through high school, the girl always bit back in some way, always acknowledged the remarks and kept her head held high, but Santana didn't see that girl anywhere in the apartment, and it was really frustrating.

"That's all well and good, and like I said, you'll do your best...but your nose is going to hold you back. Not saying it's a bad nose, but the girls that make it through have smaller ones, or they get surgery, and producers fall in love with them. I'm a senior, I've seen it for four years now, and I'm sorry, but that's how it is. But hey, you have talent, so you're not hopeless. You just need some corrections...and I know you're green so I'll even help you out, alright?" the man said slowly, as if he were speaking to a goddamn child, and the way he said 'corrections' totally gave her the creeper alert. She was certain that if Rachel needed help, she didn't need it from that guy. And when she just saw Rachel nod sadly after his remark, Santana got to her feet and walked into the bathroom, needing a bit of space to think. Often, as a young girl, she'd use the bathtub and pretend it was a space-ship, so she could just get away from what was bothering her, so she could calm down and eventually focus. Santana didn't need to pretend anymore, but it still had a calming effect on her that she happily took advantage of in that moment.

At least, until he asked Rachel where the bathroom was. It was then that Santana threw all caution to the wind and jumped into action, recalling every feature of the man that she'd been able to notice. Knowing that he'd seemed quite well groomed, a plan quickly fell into place, admittedly one she'd conjured up weeks before in case of the event that Finn showed up.

She was just reaching for her tactical enema when the man walked in and promptly sat on the toilet seat, tossing his pants and boxers down in one fell swoop. It was almost impressive, considering he had a belt too. "Fucking bitch can't shut the fuck up. I didn't come here for coffee...I know she's a country bumpkin, but is she really that stupid to think I'd be here if I didn't think I'd be banging her tonight?" the guy muttered in annoyance as he squeezed out a particularly juicy shit. Which immediately changed her plans for the better, because Berry was not going to be some notch on that creep's proverbial bedpost or whatever. _Besides, I have coffee every morning with Rachel, and it's actually fucking alright...the girl's a little loopy when she's half asleep, and it's hilarious!_

And miraculously, just as a new plan came to mind, his attention shifted to his phone, immediately focused on texting someone. With him momentarily distracted, she quickly switched the hand cream with Rachel's bottle of 'Pink' silicone-based lube, a gift she'd given the diva one night after the girl had endured a frustrating dancing class. Surprisingly, though, as she held it up, it was clear that it wasn't full, which only made Santana smile wider. The man seemed to be the type to moisturize his hands after washing them, so she hoped it would do the trick of humiliating the shit out of him. Not to leave things to chance, though, she pumped a small, careful amount and stealthily moved toward the man. Slowly, with her eyes fully trained on the texting imbecile before her, she knelt and smeared the glob onto the inside of the man's pants, putting it there instead of in his boxers so that maybe he wouldn't notice until Rachel did..

Knowing that she'd burst into laughter at any moment, she quickly moved into the bathtub, waiting for the man to fall into her trap. Santana kind of wished she knew his name, but it didn't matter anymore. If all went well enough, the only thing Rachel would remember about him was that he smothered himself in lube.

Eventually, the guy put his phone away, made quick work of wiping his pasty, ill-proportioned tush, and flushed. She was kind of sad when he didn't immediately flinch upon pulling his pants and everything up. In a way, she kind of wanted him to freak out that, scrape it off with his hands, and then go to wash them, only to be confronted with more lube. Instead, he simply went and washed his hands, using the soap first, then rinsing, before finally pumping a glorious bit of lube onto his hands.

He only made it about a half a second into rubbing his hands together before realizing something was terribly wrong; or, well, terribly right if he was in Santana's shoes. She watched as he visibly began to panic, muttering expletives at a furious pace, trying to rinse the lube off his slick, water-proofed hands. When he rushed over to the towels to try and wipe it all off, Santana took the opportunity to swap the hand cream and lube back, giving herself full deniability. Well, maybe not, but it was as close as she was likely to ever get.

And, of course, she smiled giddily like a kid on Christmas when Rachel called out for him and knocked on the bathroom door, asking if he was alright. That was a kind of weirdly endearing thing about the diva; she seemed to think that if someone ever took longer than five minutes in a washroom and wasn't bathing that they were maybe in trouble. It had been somewhat annoying in the past, at times, but she grew to like the attention, and certainly loved the fact that Berry had him trapped.

"Everything's f...fine! I'm just washing my hands!" the guy yelled out abruptly, and for a NYADA senior, his composure and acting abilities seemed entirely sub-par, his delivery entirely unconvincing.

"You don't sound fine, Marcus. I'm coming in, okay?" Rachel announced, her concern entirely wasted on the creep who was furiously wiping his hands off on the towels to no avail. Which Rachel caught him doing as soon as she opened the door, freezing the diva in her tracks.

Santana really did a legendary job at stifling her laughter, because the two people in front of her, both frozen in place and staring at each other with mouths agape, were absolutely hilarious. From her vantage point, Santana knew that as Rachel's eyes slowly scanned him over, she'd be able to see the stain in his pants from the lube. When the diva's eyes lock down on the guy's groin, a small confused frown curling at her lips, Santana knew she was victorious.

"Why are you rubbing your hands all over my towels? Wait...why are your hands all shiny?" Rachel asked, clearly confused, but still not tearing her increasingly bewildered gaze away from the first of Santana's pranks.

She watched the man as he looked down at his crotch, and then to his hands, and finally up to Rachel. Now, Santana figured that Rachel probably knew she was in there with her, but when the guy exploded in anger and marched into her personal space, it became clear that the diva was kind of scared either way, and that wouldn't do. "Are you such a slut that you keep your lube by your fucking sink?!" he yelled, prompting Santana to lift the diva's travel-size hair dryer behind him, letting Rachel know that she had her back. Rachel's features schooled instantly, and Santana couldn't have been more proud, knowing that Berry already trusted her so much.

"Why would you be touching my personal lubrication in the first place?" her flat-mate requested succinctly, cocking her hip in a show of scrutiny.

"I'm not the kind of man to want or need lube!" he insisted loudly, and the small laugh out of Rachel was probably the best thing she'd heard all night.

"Well, you either ejaculated in your pants, or urinated in them, and certainly at this point, you'd need to use lube with me because your actions aren't helping my body get appropriately prepared." Rachel stated coldly, glaring back at him with just a hint of a menacing smirk. "In case you don't understand, I'm not hot for you, and that lube's the closest thing to satisfaction from me that you'll be getting tonight. Now leave, before you embarrass yourself further."

He gave an angry grunt, and shifted forward a bit, but ultimately performed a rather impeccable diva storm-out. Santana turned her gaze from the now closed front door to the diva who was shaking her head in apparent disbelief. Santana felt a little bit guilty for the night ending the way it did, but she knew it wasn't entirely her fault; the guy would have done something to make the ending pretty damn sub-par on his own, she was sure. Even if Rachel deserved better, it just didn't seem to be in the cards that night, and she wasn't surprised when Rachel wordlessly retreated into her room.

It was the one place Santana knew to never enter without explicit permission; she knew the girl needed a safe space of her own, a place to think and exist without any outside pressures. She just hoped that Rachel wasn't too disappointed with how the night turned out. For a night that was supposed to be awesome and fun for the both of them, it certainly did take a turn for the worst somewhere along the way.

Santana found her way to the living room couch and her e-reader, and about an hour later, Rachel emerged from the bedroom and joined her, plopping down just to the right of her.

"Did you switch the hand soap with my Pink lube?" her friend asked softly, staring blankly at the powered down TV across from her.

It was a simple question, deserving a simple answer. "No. I swapped the hand cream with the lube."

Rachel let out an annoyed huff and leaned back into the couch. "You shouldn't have done that. He was the first person with Broadway connections I've met, aside from Brody." Rachel grumbled, crossing her arms in protest.

"He was a creep, he was mean to you, and he was totally griping about you in the washroom, groaning about how you were too stupid to realize he was just there for some poon." Santana answered, sighing when Rachel's face fell and her arms fell to wrap around her stomach instead. "Hey, Rach...you have a big adorable diva heart, and he was just some horny creep-star. You look for the best in people, and he looks for...something pretty different. You're not stupid for wanting to chat him up all legit-like."

Rachel's frown didn't dissipate, but she did lean a little into Santana, which was enough for her to know that they were okay. "Is that why you switched them?"

"Well, I was just going to slip an enema into his pocket and make it look like he peed his pants, but then he started talking shit and...well, you saw." Santana smiled sheepishly as Rachel started to erupt in giggles, simply happy to see that maybe she'd done something to help lift the diva's mood.

"Santana!" Rachel blurted out between laughs, her arms clutching her stomach as if they could contain the humour inside her. "You're so mean!"

"All true, I'm afraid, but only to those who deserve it these days." She noted with a sly smile, watching cheerfully as her friend regained composure slowly. It was always nice to get Rachel laughing; with how rigorous the girl's schedule was, there was rarely ever any time for fun, so she savoured any stolen moment like that.

"I'm sorry for bringing him over. I should have asked first or something. I just thought that..." Rachel started, but Santana wasn't up to hearing Berry blame herself, so she went to work at mussing her hair up, immediately halting the girl's words in her throat.

"Don't apologize! I was fine sitting in the corner and reading until he started being a jerk to you." Santana interrupted, earning a perplexed expression that only worried her. She couldn't let Rachel be that vulnerable around every guy in New York; to quote Ned Stark, they'd come to a dangerous place. "He was talking down to you and used backhanded compliments, and you deserved better. That's why I stepped in...not that I have the right to decide anything for you, but I didn't like hearing him talk to you like that."

Rachel let out a hum of understanding before flopping down onto her side, partially onto Santana's lap. They both just rested there for a while until Santana realized that perhaps the douchebag wasn't the best topic to finish a conversation on."How was the party, anyway?"

"A learning experience. Kurt more or less avoided me in every way, and I felt really out of place. I...I doubt I'll ever feel like I belong in that sort of scene. I thought I was ready but...I just don't know anymore." Rachel's admission seemed pretty understandable, and Santana wished the party had gone better for her as well. It seemed to be a night of missed chances.

"You will...it's just that fashion nerds are different than theatre nerds, and not all fancy parties are the same. I mean, look at the Cheerios and the jocks...both popular, but really different, especially in their own specific parties. When you go to a Broadway after-party, surrounded by your theatre geek friends, you'll wonder how you ever thought you didn't fit in, okay?" she rambled, hoping her words were at least a little reassuring. Santana knew that Rachel didn't have much experience in parties, so it might have been lost on her, but she knew it to be true. Parties were about the people involved, and how they were related. Rachel wasn't related to fashion moguls, and those weren't her people, so of course she'd feel out of place a bit.

"I just wish I stayed home." Rachel mumbled as she got comfy, resting her arm and head on Santana's thighs.

Those six words kind of made Santana's heart swell, because hell, they would have had an awesome night together. To hear that Rachel would give up such a valuable, if potentially scarring, learning experience was kind of huge. Deciding that the diva could use some comforting, she started running her hand through the girl's wavy brown locks, earning a pleased smile from her friend. "There's still time left to watch 'It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown', if you want to." She said softly, hoping that they could continue to salvage the night, despite the late hour.

A brief nod had Santana reaching for the remote, turning on the holiday special that she'd watched annually since she was a child. Seriously, it was pretty awesome, and it wasn't as if Britt and Quinn hadn't been totes excited to watch it each year too.

Midway through the special, though, Rachel's relentless shifting and repositioning became impossible to ignore, the girl's quest to get comfy seemingly an impossible task. "What do you need, Rach? A pillow or something?" she asked, stilling the girl who was halfway resting on her lap.

"It's...nothing. Sorry for bothering you, Santana." Rachel squeaked, sitting up fully on the couch, looking entirely awkward and conflicted. Not that the diva's unconvincing delivery didn't seal the deal, but her body language was screaming that she was lying. Rachel had always been a horrible liar. Worst poker face in all of glee.

Santana cautiously reached out and took hold of one of Rachel's free hands. "What do you need? It's just me...don't be embarrassed." She stated, hoping that some of the girl's previous trust in her from the bathroom would carry over. It wasn't often that they talked about anything really serious, or did anything super abnormal or anything, so she was drawing a blank as to what was bugging her friend.

"It's just...it's been a while since anyone hugged me. My dads used to give me some every day, but the last one I got was from Quinn, and before that...was from my dads when they left me here." Santana frowned at how sad her friend sounded, and that frown morphed into a grimace as she realized she could have been doing that all along, and helping Rachel out.

In truth, she understood completely. It had been a really long time since anyone hugged her. "I know the feeling...but if you want one, I'm okay with it." She replied, trying to convey that she was ready and willing, but Rachel didn't seem convinced.

"You don't have to...I'd understand if you're not the type, or anything." Rachel mumbled, fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist nervously. It was kind of cute to see the girl so uncertain about asking for a hug.

"Me and Britt used to cuddle every Saturday morning while she watched cartoons. I kind of miss it too." Santana noted, feeling a little embarrassed about admitting that bit of information, but it seemed to relax Rachel enough for Santana to slide an arm around the girl's waist, pulling her closer and into a hug.

Rachel latched onto her, practically melting against her, and Santana could feel the tension just escape the girl's body. It was kind of wonderful. Almost as wonderful as when Rachel gently pushed away and guided Santana to lie down on the couch, the diva resting on top of her and tossing a blanket over them both. The show was almost over by then, but Santana was pretty okay with just laying there with Rachel for a bit. It was pretty damn nice. It felt pretty damn normal.

As the credits began to roll, Santana felt Rachel turn on top of her, their faces inches apart as Berry gazed in the direction of hers. The girl's brow knit as Berry slowly ran her hands up Santana's arms, then across her shoulders, and up her neck. She watched, spellbound as the diva focused so intensely on every little movement of her own fingers.

"What are you doing?" Santana asked warily, her voice much quieter than she'd planned on it being, her lungs too out of breath to really do much but whisper. Rachel didn't answer immediately, but instead let her fingers trace the outlines of Santana's features, each digit encountering every interesting and uninteresting bit of her face before they cupped her cheeks gently.

"Memorizing you." Rachel whispered in return, her gaze almost too intense to return; she wasn't sure what was going on in Berry's head, but whatever it was, she wasn't about to stop it. She knew it would only make the diva more curious, and she kind of enjoyed being touched and whatever. And maybe it was a little overwhelming and shit. And maybe she was having a hard time controlling her breathing.

"Why?" she asked in a shuddering break from her own tear-choked throat. Because honestly, she knew it was a fruitless endeavour. Her appearance would keep changing over the years, and any memory of her will be stuck in the past, never the present. That every memory had an expiration date, and most people that had been in her life only knew a Santana Lopez who was trapped in her teens, never changing. That maybe Rachel would be the only one to know her as she was, but even then, the girl would never see her. Hell, she'd never see herself, and it was hard to acknowledge.

"I don't want to forget you." Rachel stated seriously, which only earned the diva a laugh, something she didn't seem particularly pleased about. "I'm serious, because you would, Santana. You would let me forget."

She tucked a loose lock of hair behind the girl's ear, clearing her view of the diva's face. "Does it matter? I'm invisible, no one's going to see my face again, not even me, so what's the point? Is my voice not enough?"

"The point is that I have a good memory, and a great imagination, and I want to be able to touch you and see you. I want to be able to look at you and let my mind and memory fill in the blanks that my hands and ears couldn't on their own." Rachel insisted fervently with a passion that she hadn't heard since she'd accidentally caught Quinn ranting to herself about Beth. And honestly, she didn't know how to feel about that, or what to say.

Santana decided to take a moment to think, running a hand idly through Rachel's slightly tangled brown mop of hair. "I'm a little tired, I...think I should probably get to sleep." She stumbled out, not so subtly insinuating that maybe Rachel should go to bed too.

"Sleep sounds lovely, but I'm too cozy to move." Rachel mumbled, ducking her head down against Santana's chest.

It boggled her mind that Rachel would skip her nightly hygiene routine just because she was 'cozy'. It literally made zero sense, and she was pretty sure that Rachel was lying, but she didn't want to cause a scene and call her out on it. "You sure?" is all she could ask, feeling like a bit of a coward, and a little bit selfish; it wasn't as if she didn't like cuddling with Berry. The girl was really soft and comfortable, and she kind of didn't want her to leave either, even if she knew it'd probably be a better idea. Sure, it made her feel normal, a little bit, for Rachel to be doing that with her, because she used to cuddle and sleep with her friends all the time until probably tenth grade, and even then, she missed the fact that those events became less and less common.

But at the same time, she couldn't help but think she was leading herself down a road to heartbreak. She desperately didn't want to lose Rachel, and the longer she was around the diva, the more normal she felt. But the reality was that she wasn't normal, she couldn't BE normal for Rachel, and pretending to be just made her feel that it could lead to long term disaster. It wasn't fair for either of them to pretend. As if it couldn't be any clearer, the biggest prank of all was what had been done to her, and how she still kept getting tricked into thinking she could be as real as anyone else.

So she really should have told Rachel to leave. She kept thinking that long after Berry fell asleep on top of her. At least the night ended in Rachel smiling, for what it was worth. Santana just hoped that the investment would pay dividends instead of crashing down to earth like she feared it would.


	25. Miscommunication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine person A of your OTP has had a lot of work these past few weeks for whatever reason. They can spend little time with person B around their extra work hours, and can tell this is taking its toll on their lover, which of course causes more stress for A.
> 
> One night, A returns just after midnight, exhausted, to find to their horror that all the bags are packed and B is asleep on the couch. Devastated that it seems B has finally had enough, A curls up on the sofa with them in order to share one last night together.
> 
> Come morning, however, B is surprised and confused that A is so upset. Turns out that they had no intention of leaving A at all: they 'bullied' A's boss into giving them some time off and arranged a romantic getaway for the two of them - then just couldn't be bothered to go back upstairs to bed after packing/fell asleep waiting for A to return.
> 
> Pairing: Rachel/Santana
> 
> A/N: Continuation of my one-shot "Road Trip"

Rachel Berry was downright exhausted as she left the recording studio, unsteady in her heels as she staggered out onto the sidewalk and called for a cab. Mondays were not supposed to be like this, she knew, but if her agent was to be believed, her career was at stake. Or well, her ascension to the next level of stardom.

Her mantra over the past two months had been that it would be worth it in the end, when she broke through and established herself, but slogging through her off-day from 'Wicked!' in a photoshoot, then two interviews, then seven long hours in the studio working on the last tracks of her album...well, it wasn't easy to keep that mantra in mind.

"And Miguel's not even going to be behind the boards tomorrow, if he was sincere about not seeing me for the next four days. That's going to add a day of work to this mess, since I'll have to go over all my notes with whatever new people are there in his place, and...ugh." Rachel muttered to herself, waiting patiently for her ride to show up.

It was such a mess. When the opportunity to put out an album and tour during festival season came up after starting her final year as Elphaba, she'd jumped on it. She and Santana had sat down for a long talk about it all, what it meant to their schedule, and their relationship, and agreed it was for the best. It would mean some short term sacrifices, but they thought they had weathered worse storms than three months of hellish scheduling. It seemed like a relatively easy decision at the time.

What Rachel hadn't expected was her producers' reluctance to give her days off on her farewell run, which left her overworked, and her poor understudy practically twiddling her thumbs. She hadn't expected the extent of time all the interviews, photoshoots, public appearances and performances, and red carpet events would take up. She hadn't expected that the record label would change their mind midway through the recording process, forcing her to put in many more hours than she'd anticipated.

Worst of all, she hadn't expected that for two months straight, she'd more than likely arrive home after Santana had fallen asleep, and would leave before her fiancée would wake. The days where they'd see each other, exhaustion or bad moods would usually sour or subdue any good moments they might have salvaged. It was one thing to hold strong together against the tremendous short term changes in their lives. It was another beast to deal with when she rarely ever got to be with Santana in person unless they were sleeping.

Rachel wasn't blind, she knew the toll it was taking on Santana, even if she barely got to see the woman anymore. Santana's texts had grown more concise, rigid in their language. Quicker to escalate to that fiery side Rachel had largely been exempt from since they'd gotten together six years ago.

She saw it in how Santana slept on her side of the bed for the past three weeks. She saw it in how her body mist would never be where she left it when she got home, and how some nights, if she wasn't too tired, she could smell its faint aroma on the pillow and sheets. She saw it in how Santana would send her texts of good times from their past, or retweet old photos of them together, then go AWOL on social media for a while. She saw it in how Santana would sometimes leave the sink full of dishes, since Rachel had long taken the helm of 'dish-washer' to valiantly protect her fiancée's delicate fingers. She saw it in the messages from Santana's coworkers, asking her to tell her 'wifey' to calm down, and how those messages grew in frequency in the past weeks.

Santana wasn't coping well, and as much as Rachel tried to make it easier, it never seemed to be enough, and she knew that was her fault. Santana hadn't signed up for this level of neglect, and as Rachel got into the cab, she hoped the slice of chocolate cake she'd sent an intern to get would help, if just a little bit. Rachel knew she still had at least three weeks left of this mayhem, and she felt trapped in a tailspin of stress, entirely unsure how they'd get through this intact. Santana was trying so hard, being so good and supportive, but her fiancée was nearing her breaking point by now, certainly.

"I'll have to do something...maybe Joel will let Olivia play Elphaba this Sunday. I...I can demand it, can't I?" She mumbled, staring out the window as the cab made its way through the city and over the bridge towards their brownstone in Brooklyn.

Sure, her contract stipulated a number of things about her performances in her final series of shows, but surely if she begged them to give her one day off, to re-energize, they'd allow her? Even if they'd denied her the last three times she'd asked? She'd played each show for nearly three months straight, that was probably a record by now. They had to. They just HAD to.

When the cab stopped, she handed over a collection of bills, a little too tired to count what was what, but the driver didn't object as she exited. She'd go inside and set herself a notice to demand Sunday off, then enjoy the last waking moments of her day with the likely sleeping future Mrs Berry-Lopez. Just holding Santana was enough of an anchor to calm the stormy waters in her mind.

Rachel trudged up the stairs to their second floor condo and quietly unlocked the door, gently guiding it open so as to avoid making noise. It was an old habit from when Kurt still lived with them in Bushwick, since Santana slept like the dead, and would never hear her unless she slammed the door open, and even that wasn't entirely certain to wake the woman.

It was the door coming into contact with something heavy that alerted Rachel. Cautiously, she peeked behind the door to see if Santana had moved the boot rack around, only to have her heart fall through her chest at the sight of luggage.

Heart beating rapidly, mind feeling as if it had been splashed with ice water, Rachel scanned the foyer, noticing that it wasn't just one bag. It was their whole set, gathered messily in the foyer, as if they'd been thrown or dropped there in haste. Or anger. Or hurt.

Rachel felt herself moving before she could even think about what was going on, rushing through the living room towards their bedroom, only to feel her legs fall out from beneath her at the sight of her fiancée asleep on the couch, a box of Kleenex on the side table, and her love's favourite coat slung over the backrest.

"She's l...leav..." Rachel choked out before a sob burned through her throat, the diva falling to her knees by the coffee table. Suddenly, Sunday seemed an eternity away, no longer a possible reprieve, but the sixth day she was sure to spend without her love, truly apart for the first time in years.

In her heart of hearts, she couldn't blame Santana. Her fiancée, her best friend, had always had difficulty being alone, and certainly hadn't signed up for the past few weeks. And now, without Santana at her side, all of what they'd endured seemed pointless. What good was established stardom and its scheduling perks without her Tana to fill that free time with? What good was a national tour during festival season without Santana to cuddle up with on the tour bus?

Rachel loved her career, she loved her work, and she yearned to be a star like her talent demanded of her, but if it meant being alone and losing the person she loves the most in the process, it wasn't worth it. There would have been other opportunities down the road, she could have kept the course and enjoyed her B-list status for a while longer. They could have made it work like they had been for the year before this mess.

 _It's all my fault..._ She thought, biting down hard on her lip to stifle the despair that begged to be let loose. No, she would face this head on, she'd earned it.

Rachel took some steadying breaths and got to her feet, shambling into the kitchen to put the cake away, only to notice Santana's engagement ring on the counter by her fiancée's phone. The container in her hands fell to the ground as Rachel collapsed to the kitchen floor, her heart completely shattered, her body unwilling to contain her grief any longer.

She'd cried before, as an actress and across the years as family and friends had come and gone, but the sobs that tore through her body felt like knives carving their way out of her chest and up her throat. She'd spent seven months scouring the east coast for the perfect ring for Santana, something that would match her lover's personality and tastes perfectly. Seven months of painstaking research and soul searching until she'd found it.

It was another four months until she'd found the perfect opportunity to propose; Santana had been taking all kinds of dance classes, and had been poorly masking her excitement about a certain networking gala that was taking place late May last year. It wasn't too out of the ordinary, but there would be music to dance to in support of a charity for local youth arts programs.

Santana wore a perfume that smelled like cherry blossoms that night, and every time Rachel came across that scent since, it was as if she was back there on the dance floor, after waltzing with Santana, falling to a knee in front of the woman she'd desperately wished to spend the rest of her life with.

A wish that wouldn't be, couldn't be; the thought of spending countless nights alone, away from the woman she loved, was more than she could bear. She knew she'd brought this on herself, but she knew she had to be selfish.

She'd steal one last night and pray that it would be enough.

Rachel fumbled at the zippers on her boots, slipping them off as she discarded her jacket, body following her single-minded focus back into the living room to cherish whatever time she had left with Santana.

Though she was exhausted as she slipped in behind her fiancée, arms snaking around Santana's waist to buy into the illusion that this was just another night, Rachel knew she wouldn't fall asleep tonight. She'd cry until she ran out of tears, and she'd hold on for as long as she could, not wanting to miss a single moment; not wanting to fall asleep, only to find Santana long gone.

There was time enough to sleep when it was over.

* * *

Santana woke with a serious kink in her neck, some serious dampness on her left shoulder, and a whole lotta warmth enveloping her. Though what took priority, as she opened her eyes, was the fact that the sun was clearly just coming up. Which meant it was before seven in the fucking morning. "Erghhh..." She groaned, trying to get comfy again in hopes of catching another hour or two, but the hitched breathing behind her and slight whimpering slowly drew Santana out of the hazy depths of her sleep-deprived mind.

"Rachel?" She mumbled against the throw pillow her face was squished against, expecting some sort of chipper reply, given her fiancée was usually up by now, and had probably woken her by crawling back onto the couch with her after her usual morning workouts. She allowed herself a smile, knowing her diva would give her the customary 'good morning, I love you' that Rachel offered each day. Maybe Santana kind of cherished that little routine, even if she'd often only be half awake when Rachel would say it to her.

She didn't expect a sobbing face to bury itself into her left shoulder, and while her partner weeping against her was more than a little alarming, it was still damned early, she hadn't had her coffee, and it was clear that the dampness on her shoulder was from tears and snot.

"Seriously, you gotta wake me up by snottin' all over my fine ass? Couldn't have given me a little lip action on my neck or somethin'?" Santana grumbled, rolling over in Rachel's arms, which took some effort that she really hadn't wanted to expend. However, just the sight of her lover's distraught, exhausted, teary-eyed face was enough to soften her mood. "Doesn't mean you're off the hook for pancake duty for wakin' me up so early, sugarplum, but you know the drill. Tell Tana what's wrong, 'kay? You just take a few deep breaths with me and we'll handle whatever it is together."

"Y...you're leaving me..." Rachel whimpered, words barely understandable amongst her fiancée's blubbering, Santana needing a few long seconds to piece the syllables together.

Sure, they finally had a morning where they'd both woken up together for the first time in weeks, but Santana wasn't sure if it was enough to have a breakdown over. Clearly the love of her life was upset, and try as she might, Santana couldn't put the pieces together. Not without at least a cup of coffee.

"Well...I'll have to leave the couch to get showered, since you slobbered all over me, babe. Can't blame a girl for that, you know I take night showers so I'm not gross when I come to bed." Santana spoke, hoping her words would have provided some solace, but it only seemed to make Rachel cry harder. "Hey, no, I'm not saying you're gross, Rach, honest. It's just I can't exactly board a flight with snot on me, the TSA guys will use it as a reason to hassle me. You know I've hated them ever since they strip searched me for having that ridiculous dildo on me."

"You...you had it in your carry-on, San." Rachel mumbled, some confusion and amusement briefly relieving her precious diva of her sadness.

"It was a thirteen hour trans-atlantic flight to Barcelona, I had to pass the time _somehow_." Santana argued, feeling entirely legitimate in having attempted to bring the device. Of course, the TSA destroyed it, ruining any possibility of fun during the trip.

"Are...are you going to B...Barcelona, then? Is that...I'm so sorry, Tana." Rachel let out, voice cracking on her name as the diva just pulled her close and wept against her neck.

To be frank, she honestly had no fucking clue what was going on, because what the hell did Barcelona have to do with anything? And what did her diva have to be sorry for?

Deciding to just run on instincts, she pulled her diva closer, stroking a free hand through Rachel's hair. "Hey, it's okay. It's gonna be okay, tiny."

"H...how is living without you re...remotely okay, San?" Rachel blubbered, and Santana swore that through those words alone, she could hear her diva's heart breaking, prompting her to pull them up to a sitting position, Santana shifting onto Rachel's lap.

"Where the hell would I go without you, tiny?" Santana asked softly, stroking her diva's tear-soaked cheeks, planting a brief kiss to that cute nose of hers. "I said yes to you, Rach. Not even Beyoncé could drag me away from you, so why don't you just tell me what's goin' on in that beautiful mind of yours, okay?"

She heard Rachel sniffle a bit, the diva's grip on her lightening just a smidgen. "Well...you left your ring." Rachel mumbled sadly, sounding entirely on the verge of breaking down again, which had her wondering if her diva hadn't been up all night or something. Usually Rachel was only so uncontrolled when she was entirely lacking sleep.

Santana processed her fiancée's words for a moment as she felt for the jewelry, quickly finding it missing. She wasn't particularly surprised after the previous night, so she thought back, brow furrowing in concentration before she remembered where she'd put it. "Tiny, I took it off to wash the dishes when I got home, so the sink wouldn't get stanky as all hell. Do you remember the last time we left the dishes around for days at a time? We had to go all Witchfinder General on that shit."

Rachel leaned back a little bit, enough for Santana to catch a glimpse of her diva's worried expression, feeling relieved to see a glimmer of hope in those warm mocha eyes.

"But...but...you packed your things..." Rachel choked out, wide eyes brimming with tears that Santana hoped could be happy ones, now that she was starting to understand.

Santana combed a hand through Rachel's hair and brought her closer for a kiss, pillowing her diva's upper lip, setting a languid leisurely tone as she drew Rachel in, slowly spurring her lover's confidence second by second. She didn't care that Rachel had probably broke skin on her neck and shoulder from gripping her so hard as their lips met again, and again, just hoping to calm her diva down and help her understand.

"Baby, I'd never leave without you. I love you." Santana let out before planting one last kiss so as not to derail what she knew sadly needed to be discussed. "I packed OUR things. I came home exhausted from working late, I packed our things, I did the dishes, and I planted my ass on the couch to wait for you to come home. I guess I fell asleep, though."

"You packed...what? You're not leaving me?" Rachel asked, each word escaping her with greater hope shining in those eyes.

"I...kind of interfered with your shit a few days ago. Threatened the lives of your producers at Wicked! if they wouldn't give you time off. We arranged for this week to officially showcase your understudy, give audiences a glimpse at the next Elphaba, or something. Then I might have blackmailed your agent to give you time away from the studio." Santana admitted sheepishly, having wanted to surprise her soon-to-be-wife late last night instead of after an emotional breakdown before seven o'clock the next morning.

Rachel's face contorted in confusion, even if those absolutely mackable lips curled slightly upwards. "I...hadn't heard anything about time off."

Santana leaned forward and took her diva's nose gently between her teeth, drawing a miraculous giggle from her diva, tears finally breaking the levee down her cheeks. "I told them to keep it all hush-hush. It was supposed to be a surprise." She admitted, bonking her forehead against Rachel's. "I'm so sorry I led you to break down, tiny. Can you forgive me?"

Rachel's lower lip just trembled, tears streaming from her eyes still. "I stayed awake all night long because I thought you were leaving me, and...and I couldn't stand missing a single second of my time with you." Rachel whispered, and Santana swore she felt her heart break at the sheer misery in her lover's warm eyes, in her wondrous voice. She vowed to never be responsible for such an emotion tainting her love again, goddamn any jokes of being whipped. As dramatic and ridiculous as her Rachel could be on low sleep, she just couldn't handle the mere notion of allowing her diva to hurt so badly again.

She was peppering Rachel's face with kisses before she could realize it, just keeping her close, showing her and reminding her that she was still there. That she'd remain there. "Our flight's not until noon, so why don't we take a quick shower together, and sleep off the rest of the morning in bed?" She asked softly, shooting Rachel an apologetic smile. "When we get back to where it all started, I promise to make it up to you however you like."

Rachel's dazed expression was enough of a reminder that her diva had probably been awake for over twenty-four hours, and was too exhausted to do much thinking. "Where it all started?"

"Your sanctuary in North Carolina, tiny." She clarified, drawing a bright-eyed, excited expression from the adorable diva she was straddling. "Got us plane tickets to Raleigh, and I've rented a car to drive us there. We've got until Friday, then we've gotta get back. Same amount of days as when you whisked me away the first time."

"You planned a romantic stress-relieving retreat?" Rachel asked, all fucking bright eyed and bushy tailed, looking like she thought Santana had hung the damn stars in the sky. Truth be told, she was mostly being selfish, having desperately missed her diva, and having known Rachel really needed a damn break from the madness. It was a win-win to get time off, and another win to bring them both to a place they could let go of the past two months while re-kindling that romance that had brought them together their first time there together.

"No biggie." She whispered, unable to keep from taking Rachel's lips with her own one more time, cherishing that her diva responded immediately despite how dead-tired she was.

"It IS a biggie." Rachel mumbled in return, clearly running out of steam now that the apparent danger of them splitting up was over.

"Nah, tiny. I love you, and I'd do anything for you. If you can't ask or expect that from me, then I'm not doing my job." She added with an adoring smile as Rachel's eyes started drooping from exhaustion. "Let's get you to the shower. Maybe I'll sit you down on the lip of the tub and give you head if you promise to let us check into the airport on my definition of timeliness, not yours."

Santana worked them both to their feet and started them towards the hallway. "Mmmh, not a chance, baby. You can get me off on the drive up instead."

She shook her head in amusement, figuring her gambit had been worth a shot. Besides, Rachel's suggestion was more than a little appealing, even if it meant hours at the terminal with Rachel napping on her shoulder. "Deal. Now come on, I needs me some suds action, and I know you're feeling it, too."

Though it took a minute longer than it should have, she eventually managed to get them both stripped, Santana following Rachel into the pleasantly hot shower. Just as she had grabbed the loofah and poured some of the diva's body wash on it, she felt her arm tugged on lightly. Curious, she turned around and was met by Rachel pulling her into a tight embrace.

"Good morning, San. I love you." Rachel whispered against her neck, lips lingering in a kiss, and yeah.

Everything was going to be just fine. "Love you, too, tiny."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welp, I saw this prompt, and couldn't help myself.  
> your-otp-prompts.tumblr.com/post/131939621100/imagine-person-a-of-your-otp-has-had-a-lot-of-work
> 
> I wasn't sure whether to run pezberry or clexa here, but ultimately the dramatics of the scenario had me leaning harder towards pezberry.
> 
> Anywho, I figured it'd be fun to provide a glimpse into the future of the Road Trip-verse pezberry along the way. I hope you enjoyed it!


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